Heaven is a Place on Earth
by Prelate
Summary: Dean was going to rip Gabriel a new one, if he ever managed to escape the ridiculous hallucination he was trapped in this time. He was a homicide detective, apparently, but that didn't explain why Cas was almost naked in his kitchen, sipping coffee and whining about his secretary. ...And why the actual hell did Cas just call him "Darling"!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own supernatural and I'm not making any sort of profit from writing this!

**Notes: **I've written lots of fanfics in the past, but this is my first for Supernatural, so I would appreciate feedback. This takes place during season 5, just after episode 18. Most of the urban legends in this are real local stories and places (I'll leave a note if they're not), I grew up in the place I'm writing about so I've heard my share of weird. The deaths and people in the story are all fictional – except for the Action Park ones, you really can pull up the fatality list on Wikipedia.

**This story is also available, with explicit content on Ao3**, under the same username, but split up as a series titled 'Another Day in Paradise'. The first part is 'Adventures in Domesticity'. I'm currently working on copying it over from there, and will probably make daily updates until I'm caught up.

**Warnings: **Very mild dubious consent, PTSD symptoms, Canon-typical torture scenarios, canon-typical violence, graphic sexual content (only in the Ao3 version!), some homophobic language and internalized homophobia

**Thanks for reading! **Please Comment/Review. I like to know how I'm doing!

* * *

Dean groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He felt like he got ran over by a loaded dump truck, and left to fester in a ditch for a week. Hangover. Probably. He rolled over, and squinted as the morning sun assaulted his eyes. Had Sam actually let him sleep past the crack ass of dawn? There must have been an entire herd of pigs flying through a blizzard in hell.

"I am getting too old for this shit," Dean mumbled and unconsciously felt for the gun he kept under his pillow. It wasn't there.

He sat upright, suddenly wide awake and aware that he was naked and freezing. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in his surroundings, and realized he was no longer in the filthy little roach motel he and Sam had booked a room in for the week. He was in someone's bedroom, and that someone had blue silk sheets. ...And a taste for modern art, judging by the colorful abstract paintings hanging on the walls. They were also fast asleep on the other side the unreasonably huge king size bed, with their back facing Dean and currently rolled up in all the blankets. _Rude,_ Dean thought to himself, and gently shook the lightly snoring pile of crumpled up blue patchwork quilt. She didn't stir. At least he apparently went home with a girl who had some class this time. Hopefully she wasn't a cougar. He should sneak out while he still had some dignity. Quickly, Dean searched for his clothes.

"Fuck's sake," He whined, when he found that his clothes weren't tossed on the floor – or over the bench in the adjacent bathroom that was bigger than most of the motel rooms he'd stayed in.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder at the still comatose pile of snoring blankets. He swore to himself and tried rifling through the dresser. He really didn't have time for this. Sam was going to be majorly pissed if he had to work the case by himself. Wait... Dean dropped the pair of socks he was holding and stared at his left hand – at the elegant platinum band, etched with a Celtic looking pattern, that adorned his ring finger. His heart leaped into his throat, and he dove back into the drawer. He'd steal something if he had to. What was this, Vegas? Last time Dean checked they were in New Jersey hunting some asshole he-witch, so deep in the boonies that it could have been Kansas if not for all the mountains. How had he managed to get drunk and hitched in bumfuck nowhere? Had he even been drinking? Dean didn't recall having much more than a beer or two since they left Bobby's a few days back.

There was only men's socks and underwear in the dresser, and a dildo that had to be an exact replica of Andre the Giants... Little giant. Dean cringed and slammed the drawer shut. Gabriel was screwing around with him again. He _had _to be. There was no way he actually let himself get killed by Lucifer. Obviously he was the "witch" they were hunting and he had gotten to them somehow. The only other alternative was that he had just hooked up with a dude. Definitely Gabriel. He had to get out while the getting was good.

Dean ventured into the closet and found a bunch of suits that looked like the ones he and Sam wore while pretending to be FBI agents. Good enough. He grabbed a black tailored suit, but nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of an electronic alarm clock that was suddenly blaring through the room. Horrified, Dean peeked out of the closet to watch a hand reach out from under the blanket cocoon and fumble around trying to turn it off. Even from the closet, Dean could see a platinum band that probably matched his on the ring finger.

"Shit," He mumbled and grabbed the suit. There was still time. The pile of quilts didn't move, but the snoring had stopped. Dean scrambled to put the suit on, the silence nearly deafening. Cautiously, he tip-toed across the room and reached for the door handle, hardly daring to breathe.

"...Dean?"

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ," Dead mumbled to himself. He knew that voice. "...Cas?"

"Are you going downstairs? Make some coffee," His angel replied without even crawling out of the blankets to look at him.

"Cas?" Dean asked, hoping he could hide the horror in his voice. "How long have we been _married_?"

The pile of blankets finally moved to reveal a very sleepy, irritable looking angel that had his hair sticking up in every which direction. He raised his eyebrows and seemed to be studying Dean like he was some sort of wild animal. "About five years. Are you alright? Have the panic attacks started again?"

"No, no! I'm fine. Right. Coffee. I'll, uh, see you downstairs." Dean nearly tripped over himself as he bolted out of the room.

He found the kitchen, and began searching for coffee and filters. He might as well stay, as running would get him a whole lot of nowhere. He knew that well enough by now. The only way out was to play along. Besides, it was just Cas. He could handle Cas – as long as he didn't wind up in bed with him again. That really didn't bear thinking about. Dean liked _girls_, with their soft curves in all the right places – the bustier the better. He had never, in his entire life, ever had any desire to do the dirty with a dude. True, he and Cas were much more than friends, but this... Gross. And apparently he had panic attacks? Since when? Maybe his coping mechanisms weren't necessarily healthy, but he kept a lid tight on that crap aside from the occasional nightmare.

"Of course, it's a Keurig. How do these stupid things even work?" Dean complained as he read the instructions on the back of a box of hazelnut K-cups that had to belong to Cas. By the time he figured how to work the contraption, Cas had wandered downstairs – in nothing but a pair of gray plaid boxers.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas, clothes please."

"Why? Are we expecting company?"

Dean sighed and handed Cas his coffee. He took a sip of it and sat it on the white marble counter beside Dean. Dean wondered how they managed to afford the place. He wasn't _that _good at hustling pool, and scamming a few credit cards wouldn't pay the mortgage on a townhouse this nice.

"You forget the sugar."

"Aren't you cold?" Dean quipped, annoyed.

"A little. Let's fix that, darling."

Dean absolutely did _not_ squeal like a little girl as Cas pressed his body against his, and trapped him against the counter. He _did_ nearly pass out when Cas tangled his fingers in his hair, and took him in a kiss that left him gasping for air. The only thought in Dean's mind, was that Cas tasted like hazelnut coffee, and he sort of liked the way he smelled – very faintly of cinnamon. What was left of Dean's sanity completely short-circuited, as Cas straightened his collar and scolded him for his tie being crooked. It felt good. Why did it feel good? No, _no_. He was _not_ going there. Hell no. Not with Cas, or not-Cas. This Cas was nothing like the one he knew, if he was even an angel. Or, maybe he was what Cas would be like if he had human emotions. He had to find a way to stop this before it went too far, or turned into a time loop that went on for years. Gabriel was a little too proud of his work on that fiasco.

"Anyway, I'll go get dressed then I suppose we had best go to work," Cas said absently, taking another sip of coffee. "I don't relish the idea, though. Anna is an annoying harpy, and she doesn't keep my patient files in the order that I like them in."

"Anna?" Dean asked, frowning. Patients? He must be a doctor or something.

"My secretary, the red-haired one. She's a nightmare, works hard though."

"Oh, right. That Anna." Dean was sure the name wasn't merely a coincidence. He'd bet anything Cas' catty secretary had the same face as a certain Angel.

* * *

Dean was in over his head. Cas was driving his car, which made him nervous as hell even though he knew nothing around him was real. Still, how _dare_ he touch Baby without explicit permission. Dean sighed and walked up the sidewalk to the police station. He shouldn't be angry; carpooling was economical and his job was on the way to Cas' office. Plus, he got his own unmarked police cruiser which was kind of badass. Irritably, he walked past the receptionist at the front desk without a greeting.

He had pretended to be a cop for so long, he figured it couldn't be that hard to be a real one. Besides, homicide investigation wasn't that far off from his actual (far less lucrative) job. He would just have to fake it til he made it. Where was his workspace though? He had a look around the station, while exchanging obligatory polite greetings to his co-workers. There was May, the receptionist that he had ignored like a total douche. She was actually a kindhearted little thing that liked to crochet at her desk during downtime. The Sheriff, John, was a complete assclown. None other than Jo Harvelle was a detective in Dean's unit, his partner in fact. He felt something twinge in his chest every time their eyes met, and tried hard not to think of the useless mission that had claimed her and Ellen's lives. Seeing her was even worse than the whole being married to Cas thing. He wasn't sure he could keep his game face on for long.

By lunchtime, Dean had a relatively good idea of who his friends were. Will from HR could go fuck himself, Jo (of course) was in his corner, and he already had an appointment to go drinking with Ian from the forensics lab over the weekend. Jack was good for taking shit around the water cooler with, and Frank was the office drunk who just got divorced. Oh, and John was a homophobic twat. He'd even commented at one point that Dean's marriage was disgraceful for someone who claimed to be an officer of the law. Dean had told him right where he could shove his opinion, which earned him a literal round of applause from Jo and Ian. ...Not that he was particularly thrilled to be playing the role of the token gay guy.

He shared an office with Jo. The wall on her side was covered with Country music posters, and notes for a separate case she was working were strewn across her desk. Currently, she was poring over the case file they had been assigned that morning. She ran her fingers through her curly blonde hair and sighed in exasperation.

"Dude was found dead in his apartment. No signs of forced entry, forensics says it looks like an animal attack. Something ripped his throat out, and his heart was missing. What the shit?" Jo thought aloud and threw the file to Dean who caught it.

"Sounds like a were - " He coughed. "Did they check the windows?"

"Werewolves, right? They eat the heart, don't they?" Jo said and laughed. "My father told me that story when I was a kid, yeah. Anyway, it was on the fourth floor so unless this guy's Spider Man, he didn't go in through a window."

"Definitely a werewolf," Dean agreed and relaxed. So, he was still a hunter – and so was Jo. Something made sense, at last.

"You know, there was that body last week that the other team had with the same MO, except the poor bastard was missing a kidney. Maybe it's a serial killer who marks his vics by leaving missing parts. That would be exciting!" Jo chattered, flicking through the photos of the previous victim on her laptop. "I've never had a serial killer case before!"

Dean sighed and shook his head. She had no idea. What if he got her killed all over again? Maybe she was right, maybe it was just some psycho. Or that crazy asshole Frankenstein doctor that he and Sam buried alive clawed his way out of his grave, and needed a few new parts. Dean cringed and spun around in his chair to face his desk. There was a photo of him and Cas sitting on a bench by a magnolia tree in full bloom, probably from their wedding judging by the matching white suits. Dean picked up the surprisingly heavy silver metal frame and took a closer look. Cas looked happy. He was pretty sure he had never seen the real Cas smile like that. He put the photo down and opened his laptop. He didn't want to think about Cas, and how he'd have to share a bed with him later. Anything but that. Maybe if he kept pretending it was just some shitty dream it would go away.

"Balls," He mumbled as he tried all of his usual passwords to no avail. He squinted at the police emblem on the log in screen as if it was mocking him and thought hard. Where was Sammy when he needed him? What mattered to this version of Dean? Cas, obviously.

"Ugh, you had to reset your password yesterday, too?" Jo butted in sympathetically. "It's your husband's name and your wedding date – that's what you always use. You told me to remind you that, remember? Unless, you ran out of different ways to type it, then you're screwed."

"Nope, but I guess that's why you're reminding me. You know what, I think I wrote it down. I'll be right back."

The good thing about small towns, was that the police station was also town hall, and no one looked twice at Dean as he rifled through the marriage records from five years ago. It didn't take long to find it. Apparently he and Cas had gotten married in the same town on June 7th 2015. Cas had also taken the name Winchester. Did that mean the year was 2020? Dean shook his head and returned to his office. It took him two tries to get it right, and the first thing he did was blast Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls so loudly the entire building could probably hear it. Finally, some god damned normalcy.

* * *

When Cas showed up to pick Dean up, he was too busy thinking about the murder case to care much about being Cas' little bitch. He'd pulled up the coroner's reports, and witness statements. Beyond that, it only got weirder. The bodies were torn apart like an animal got to them. The organs were torn out, not cut out. There wasn't any known relation between the two victims, except for the cause of death. One thing stood out to Dean, though. The dead man missing his heart, had been the recipient of a heart transplant a few years back – according to a comment that his wife made when Jo interviewed her. A little digging later, Dean had found that the other victim had been given a kidney transplant around the same time. His first thought, of course, was a vengeful spirit that maybe didn't want their tender bits parceled out to the living. But maybe it was –

"I asked how your day was," Cas said, sounding tired and irritable. He was obviously repeating himself.

Dean blinked and tore his gaze from the view of open farmland that they were driving past. "Sorry, It's been a weird day. Might have a serial killer on our hands. The victims are organ donor recipients, who are well... Missing those pieces."

"Someone cut their organs out?" Cas replied, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "That's barbaric."

"Well, tore them out. It would be a lot less of a mess on the walls if they'd been cut out," Dean explained. "How was your day, Doctor Winchester?"

"Not nearly as exciting as yours," Cas replied. "I spent most of it talking a suicidal terminal cancer patient off the ledge. Sometimes I wonder if that's really the right thing to do. In her shoes, death seems more like a mercy."

So Cas was a shrink. Dean cringed. Could it get any worse? If he was any good at his job, he'd see right through Dean's bullshit and there would be no end to the chick flick drama.

"Anyway, pizza?"

"God yes," Dean agreed. That was just what he needed, some good old fashioned greasy junk food. Good pizza was the only nice thing to come out of the tri-state area as far as Dean was concerned, well except for Bon Jovi and pork roll. Hopefully they also had a bar, because Dean needed a drink. Or ten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **Action Park was a real place, and there are six known deaths to have happened there, and they're all the kind of sketchy crap Dean and Sam might have researched. You can look it up on Wikipedia if you're curious.

* * *

Dean could only keep running for so long. His lungs burned for oxygen, and sweat ran down his back. Leaves crunched under his feet as he tore through a forest so dark he could barely see two feet in front of him. Not far behind, he could hear the excited barking and howling of an entire pack of hellhounds on his tail. He knew there was a river crossing a short distance ahead. Could those miserable sons of bitches swim? He fucking hoped not. He never found out.

Dean's foot snagged on a tree root and he went down hard. The hellhounds were on him like flies on crap. He shot a couple of them, judging by the startled yelps and leaf litter that was disturbed by them falling. With a grunt of pain, Dean tried to dislodge his trapped and probably broken foot from the tree roots. He had to get up. He had to keep running. He couldn't let them drag him back to Hell. Not again – anything but that. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck, and then there were claws tearing their way down his shoulders. He could feel his own blood trickling down his back, the stench of it heavy in the air.

Dean woke up screaming in agony, and rolled right off the edge of his bed as he jerked awake. He landed face-down with a soft thud, tangled up in a blue and white patchwork quilt that smelled faintly of cinnamon. Like Cas. Dean groaned in misery as the memory of Cas kissing him in the kitchen played through his mind. Absently, he touched his lips and shivered. It was just a nightmare, inside a fucking nightmare. Could it get any worse? At least he had clothes on this time – a pair of black boxer briefs and a white tank top. He had to find Gabriel and beat him into a bloody pulp.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine, Cas." It took every shred of self control Dean had to get up calmly instead of running to the bathroom. Maybe he should. He kind of wanted to hurl. He could still _feel_ the hellhound's claws tearing him to pieces, and the last thing he wanted was for Cas ask him about it. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. He wasn't being chased by hellhounds. He was in a brightly sunlit bedroom, surrounded by tacky abstract modern art and being watched suspiciously by a too familiar pair of deep blue eyes.

Cas sat up and stretched like a cat. "Tell me about it."

"What?" Dean replied, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. "No, I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to talk about."

"I didn't ask. I _told _you to. Tell me about your nightmare," Cas insisted, getting up from the bed to wrap himself in a fluffy white bathrobe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. "Everything you can remember."

"No," Dean said flatly, staring at the floor. Damn, he missed the normal Cas. Yet, this one seemed to know him just as well, possibly better.

"Dean."

"Jesus, okay. I was fucking Paris Hilton and her face melted off," He said, using the first stupid thing that came to mind.

Cas sat on the bed beside Dean and rested his hand on Dean's thigh in a comforting manner. Dean tensed and considered making a run for it. This couldn't be going anywhere good – not talking about feelings like a pair of girls at a slumber party, and little touches that were probably nowhere near as innocent as they seemed.

"Did you know that when you're lying, you look slightly to the left and bite your lip just a little bit." Cas leaned over so that their noses were almost touching, and fixed Dean with an intense stare. Dean swallowed nervously past a lump in his throat. Okay, so it was definitely Cas. No one could fake _that_ creepy ass stare, or his complete lack of regard for personal space. If Dean leaned any further away from him, he'd be back on the floor.

"Hellhounds," Dean said quickly, his heart racing. What was he doing?

"Hellhounds," Cas repeated, raising his eyebrows and settling back onto the bed to sit beside Dean.

"You know what hellhounds are." Cas shook his head. So, that answered Dean's other suspicions about not-Cas. He wasn't an Angel. He was just a human. He ate, slept and slogged through a nine to five job like every other schmuck. He also drove a car to get there. He wasn't using some Jedi mind tricks to get to Dean. Okay, maybe he was, but it was all manipulative psychology bullshit instead of holy mojo – which only made it worse but it worked just as well, and this Cas actually seemed to get emotions. God, he was so screwed. Just as screwed as that time he actually started to question himself while he and Sam worked that case in the mental hospital. Except, he was able to escape then.

"Hellhounds are dogs, invisible ones that serve demons. They're big and mean, and will rip you a hole where the sun doesn't shine," Dean explained, feeling like a complete moron. "Well, you know, according to some really old Judo-Christian lore. They're not, like, real. It was just a dream, Cas."

"Humor me. What where they doing?"

Dean rolled his eyes and swore under his breath. "Chasing me through a forest. I tripped on something and fell. One of them got to me, and started tearing me apart. That's where I woke up."

"Okay, let me try to explain something. When you sleep, your mind is still active and all dreams really are is your subconscious still 'thinking' about something," Cas said, and ruffled Dean's hair. If he noticed the way Dean flinched away from his touch, he didn't say anything. "You see, the part of your brain that remembers nightmares is the same that stores real memories. And, in a sense they are real."

"Oh, they sure are," Dean said bitterly.

"Well, the meaning of them is real. Think about it metaphorically for a moment. You're running from some invisible thing that terrifies you. I bet those woods were very dark too, or at least unfamiliar, so the path ahead wasn't really clear to you," Cas explained. Dean caught himself thinking that he liked the way Cas voice sounded; it was oddly soothing. He shook his head and stared hard at the carpet.

"So, if you put that in perspective with your situation while awake, it makes more sense. You're desperately trying to avoid something, but you don't really know how so you keep moving forward as best as you can. It's something you probably can't actually run from forever, so you know it's going to catch up with you eventually. Still, you're afraid of facing whatever it is, so you – ...Shit. Did we pay the association fees this month?"

Dean burst out laughing and almost fell off the bed again. He wasn't sure what was worse – that Cas had actually managed to tell exactly what was going on his mind from a stupid dream, or that he was more worried about pissing off an HOA than he had been about Lucifer. It couldn't possibly get any more surreal. He was so fucked. Really, though. It was scary to think about it, if Dean was being honest with himself. Sure, he was intimidated by whatever this alternate reality was, but the real world terrified him. He hadn't talked to Cas since the angel had kicked his ass for trying to say yes to Michael, and dragged him back to Bobby's. He knew he couldn't avoid the real Cas forever, and he didn't want to, but what if he had pissed him for the last time? What if Cas wasn't willing to forgive him? In his shoes, Dean wouldn't forgive himself either. He didn't know what he would do if he lost Cas; he was the closest thing he'd ever had to a real friend other than Sam.

* * *

Dean counted it as a miracle that he made it to work that day without another awkward kiss. His job as a detective was the only not shitty part of the mess he was in. It was familiar territory, mostly, and enough to keep his mind occupied. Okay, the shower at the townhouse was pretty nice too, as long as he managed to enjoy it without having to share. Dean actually gagged at that thought and turned his attention back to the files open on the laptop in front of him.

The two victims were not only both organ transplant recipients, they also got their new parts from the same donor – a woman named Victoria Taylor. Victoria had been killed in a car crash, just outside the ski resort in the same town Sam and Dean had come to New Jersey to investigate - Vernon. Her kidneys, heart, and liver had been donated. Jo was working on finding the identities of the other two recipients, while Dean investigated the reports from the crash that took Victoria's life. What he found, only solidified his theory that the deaths weren't just some serial killer. It was definitely a hunt.

The official police report said that Victoria had been heading north towards the town of Warwick, when a ford pick-up in the oncoming lane swerved onto her side of the road and hit her head on. The cop that wrote the report assumed they were doing about sixty miles per hour, judging by the damage to Victoria's absolutely mangled Mazda Miata. Poor Victoria had been driving with the top down, and was decapitated by a piece of flying debris. The man driving the truck survived, and swore he saw a woman in a wedding dress standing in the road. However, a witness who saw the crash claimed that there was no one, and that he just steered right for Victoria at the last second.

Some more digging yielded police reports of the unsolved murder case of the man driving the truck. His name was Brian Finch. He was dead, obviously. The same night of the crash, hospital staff reported hearing screams coming from his room. Brian, who they assumed was not mentally stable, was yelling about a woman covered in blood in the room with him. The nurse in charge went to get help from the psychiatric department. When they got there, he was dead – and it looked like he'd been ran over by a truck. ...In a hospital room.

Well, at least it seemed like a simple salt and burn. The problem – Victoria was cremated. Still, it was easy enough. Dean assumed it was the car. It was probably covered in various... bits. And if not, if he was an eighteen year old girl that owned a tiny hard-top convertible, he knew what he would be haunting. But, Brian had seen something, too. Something that couldn't have been Victoria since she was alive the first time he saw it. He was dealing with two spooks.

"How the hell does Sam do this research all the time?" Dean complained to himself as started looking up deaths at the ski resort – Mountain Creek. And, well, there were a _lot _of them. Not the ski resort though, apparently in the 80's it had been an amusement park called Action Park, that had something of tragic past due to lax safety compliance. He shook his head in disbelief as he scrolled through the fatality list. Three people had drowned in one wave pool alone, and every single one of the deaths was definitely vengeful spirit material. The worst was the poor bastard that got electrocuted and died of cardiac failure shortly after – something Dean was a lot more familiar with than he wanted to think about. He guessed the guy didn't manage to meet a faith healer enslaving a reaper.

There was one problem, all the deaths were males, under the age of 30. So who had the woman been? Another casualty of a car crash on what was obviously a high traffic area with a lots of tourists crossing the road without looking? How had he and Sam come to Vernon to hunt a maybe witch, and overlooked all of this? Maybe it wasn't part of the real world.

Dean sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He didn't know what he was dealing with, but it sure was a hell of a mess.

"Hey, Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"Has anyone else that you know of died on the road outside of Mountain Creek?"

Jo chuckled and shook her head. "A bunch. Why don't you ask Sam? I don't think he ever got over what happened at the wedding reception."

"Huh?" Dean said, eyes wide. And thinking of Sam, where was he?

"Did you forget that he talks about her every time he gets a little booze in him? That's how you met Cas, remember? He was on the rescue squad while he was still working on his psychiatry license," Jo replied, looking at Dean like he had three heads.

* * *

Sam was a peon legal secretary, apparently, and worked as a volunteer EMT on his days off. Dean found him at the firehouse, lounging around with some other EMTs, and a few of the on-call firefighters. They were playing a hand of poker, and talking shit about the fire chief when Dean walked in. For a moment, he just watched Sam. He seemed happy. He smiled and laughed as he kicked the firefighters asses at poker. Something about him being there felt right, like he fit in perfectly. But, Cas had been an EMT? Dean was having a hard time believing that one. Still, it wasn't as bad as what Gabriel had done to not-Sam.

Dean cleared his throat. "Hey Sammy."

"Dean? Aren't you supposed to be working?" Sam said, looking up. He seemed surprised to see him, but not particularly bothered, which had to be a good thing.

"I am, technically. This case I'm working... I dunno Sam, it's weird," Dean explained. "Listen, we need to talk a moment."

"Yeah, okay." Sam followed him outside, and they sat together on the old wooden park bench outside the front door of the firehouse.

"So, I am really sorry to ask this, but I need you to tell me everything you remember about the day Jess died," Dean said, hoping he had asked gently enough. He had kind of wanted to crawl in a hole and die when he pulled up the coroner's report after Jo 'reminded' him of the date of her death.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sam asked defensively. "I've moved on, Dean. It's been hard and some days I still wish that truck had taken me out, too. But, the thing is, she's gone and there wasn't a damn thing I could have done to save her. ...Or Cas, but God knows he tried."

"I know, trust me I know." As soon as he found whatever face Gabriel was wearing, Dean was going to smash it in with his bare hands. "But listen to me, something crazy is going on. You're going to think I'm nuts, but her death is connected to a case that I'm working now. I need to know everything. I mean, I know I was there too, but maybe you saw something I missed."

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "We had just left the church, after the wedding. She got out of the limo ahead of me, but she dropped something – her bracelet I think. I don't really remember, just that she ran after it and a dump truck came out of nowhere, hauling ass on the wrong side of the road and..." He voice trailed off and he had a pained, faraway look in his eyes. "Well, the guy kept on going, and she was just laying there – broken and bleeding in the road. All I really remember after that was you dragging me inside where I couldn't see her. And, a little while later when Cas came in to tell us that she was gone. Jesus Christ Dean, there was so much blood and he was soaked in it."

"I'm so sorry I brought this up, Sam."

"I wonder if Cas still thinks about it," Sam said, managing a weak smile. "That was some shit, the way he called out that paramedic for not even trying to save Jess, and told the cop on the scene to go fuck himself when he got pissed because his statement wasn't good enough for him."

Dean tried hard not to laugh. None of it was real to him, but he could see Cas losing it in that situation. Even as an angel, he was passionate about doing the right thing and helping whoever he could. Sure, he made a few pretty crappy judgment calls, but his heart was always in the right place. In his defense, free will wasn't something Cas really understood, and he was definitely a more than a little naïve about just how horrible humans could be. Dean tried to ignore the pang of guilt that washed over him. He needed to get back to the real Cas, and try to make it up to him somehow.

"They never caught that dick, either. The truck driver, I mean."

Sam shook his head. "Anyway, you and Cas are coming to the cook out tomorrow, right?"

"Uh... Yeah. We'll be there."


	3. Chapter 3

When Dean finally made it back to the townhouse, it was almost midnight. He'd texted Cas hours ago, to just leave him and he'd take his patrol car home for the night. Cas was pissed; he could tell. That might have been for the best. Until he could find Gabriel and get out of this mess, it would be easiest to keep Cas at a distance. He'd rather try his luck at another pissing match with Death than find himself engaging in any... unwanted physical contact. It wasn't that he had a problem with gay guys, but there was no way in hell he was going to give Gabriel the satisfaction. Besides, it was Cas and that was just wrong on so many levels. So, he decided to follow the path laid before him, and hunt the ghosts of Jess and Victoria. He'd have to stumble over Gabriel eventually, which meant he'd have to try to get Cas to talk. Maybe he would just have that pissing match with Death after all, because Cas could see right through his BS.

"Damn it!" Dean kicked the front tire of his charger as he stomped up the walkway. He could do this. It was just Cas. He could handle Cas. Maybe.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he found the kitchen and living room empty. Cas must have gone to bed. So, he could just sneak upstairs and sleep. No chick flick moments until the Memorial Day cook out tomorrow afternoon. That couldn't be that bad, though. All he had to do was stuff his face full of enough cheeseburgers and beer to forget about the fact that he was married to fucking Castiel, and hunting the ghost of Sam's dead wife.

"Oh no," Dean breathed as he opened the bedroom door.

Cas wasn't asleep. He was laying on his side reading a book in bed, wearing a dark blue silk robe that was purposely slipped off his shoulders. There were candles on the dresser, and some kind of woodsy smelling incense burning. Dean rolled his eyes and fought the urge to gag. On one hand, he was kind of flattered that someone went to that much effort to romance him, on the other – it was still _Cas_, and nothing could possibly make Dean play for that team.

When Dean walked in, Cas snapped his book shut and placed it on the table beside him. Dean tried, and failed, not to cringe when he winked and patted the empty spot in the bed next to him.

"Okay... Listen, Cas... I'm tired. And not... Just not in the mood right now," Dean said, stumbling over the words. He didn't want to hurt Cas, not really, but there was no way in hell that he was getting in that bed. What was he going to do, though? He just kind of froze. Cas sighed and walked over to him.

"Shh, it's okay. You've had a long day. Let me help you relax," Cas said, and tugged the knot out of Dean's tie.

"I don't think -" He gasped as Cas leaned forward and nipped at a sensitive spot just below his ear. It went straight to his cock, that apparently hadn't gotten the memo that Cas was off limits.

"Shower," Dean choked out and scrambled away from Cas. He shut the bathroom door behind him, and leaned his back against it. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and considered his options. He didn't have much time to come up with a plan to avoid the whole situation. He could just... No, no, a thousand times – no. Giving in wasn't an option. He wasn't gay, and he'd never be able to look the real Castiel in the eyes again if he knew what his dick felt like. ...Not that the angel even knew what to do with his dick. Or was it Jimmy's dick?

"Oh that's just gross. What's wrong with me?" Dean complained to himself as he threw his suit jacket over the bench next to the vanity. "Don't think about angel junk _ever _again," He whispered sternly to his reflection in the mirror.

Dean stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. He still had no idea what to do. It was the middle of the night, and his clothes were in the closet in the bedroom. Cas was in the bedroom. Running wasn't an option, and he needed to get Castiel's side of Jess' story somehow. Was that his plan? Would an invented necessity to use sex to get information make him feel better about it? Probably not. Still, he had no idea what else to do. It would be easy enough to figure out where Jess was buried, and he found the address for the salvage yard that still had the wreckage of Victoria's Miata. The main question, though, was how he wound up with Cas.

"Here goes nothing," Dean said to himself as he wrapped a towel around his waist. He took a deep breath and wandered back into the bedroom. He hoped he managed to look nonchalant as he changed into his pajamas with his back to Cas, who had gone back to reading his book.

Cas laid the book on the small table beside him. "I usually charge by the hour for therapy sessions, but as always I will make an exception for you."

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically as he slid into bed beside Cas. "Oh God not this again. I'm fine, Cas. I'm just not in the mood."

"You see, that's why I know there's a problem – you're _always_ in the mood."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Not under normal circumstances, anyway. Actually, playing along might work out for him.

"Do you ever wonder how we even manage to have a functioning relationship?" Dean asked, trying to decide if he could manipulate someone who made a living playing mind games.

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, looking a little hurt.

"Nothing it's just... Most people have some cute story about how they met. You know, like they hung out at the same coffee shop, or they met one day while walking their dogs in the park... Not us," Dean explained, hoping Jo's seemingly vague mention of him meeting Cas the day Jess died was really the first time. "How do we even answer that question when it comes up? Oh, yeah, my husband was a first responder the day my brother's wife got creamed by a dump truck an hour after the wedding. Mazel tov, bitches."

Cas took Dean's hand in his. It took every shred of self control Dean had to keep up his act, while he was screaming on the inside. Cas' hands were soft, and the way he lightly caressed Dean's palm sent shivers down his spine.

"That's not usually my first thought. I remember that day, sure, it would be hard to forget. It is not, however, what I usually think of when our first meeting comes to mind," Cas told him.

"Then, what _do _you think of?"

"Well, mostly your first day of therapy. I wanted to stab you with something, you know," Cas said with a fond smile. "You were such an ass to me for the first few sessions."

"I didn't want to be there," Dean commented. Even if he never said it in this time line, universe, whatever – absolutely no incarnation of Dean Winchester would be caught dead spilling his guts to a damn shrink. That, he was sure of. So, how had he ended up there?

"Fair enough, but it worked and here we are – after several serious lapses of professional judgment on my part, and a completely ridiculous gay crisis for both of us. I regret nothing." Castiel's expression turned stern as he spoke. "You _will _tell me if you are having panic attacks again, or if the nightmares don't get any better. I mean, I can't fix your car, but I can probably fix your head. You might as well let me be useful."

"I guess, I could say that you... Pulled me out of Hell," Dean said, trying not to gag, or jerk his hand away from Cas, who had laced his fingers with Dean's. He didn't talk about feelings, especially not these types of feelings. All this romantic crap made him want to vomit. So, why was he still bothering? Cas didn't know anything useful about Jess; that was obvious.

"It certainly felt like that," Castiel agreed and dragged Dean closer before he could react. "I suppose that's why you call me your guardian angel."

Dean fell awkwardly against him with his head resting on Castiel's shoulder, and his face tucked under his chin. He panicked. He wanted no part of having his knee in Castiel's crotch, and being close enough to hear his steady heartbeat was just too much. Deep down, he knew how often he wished someone would hold him like this, but he would admit it over his dead body. Still, it should have been Lisa or Jo, not Cas. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to push him away. Maybe he should let it be. It wasn't like anyone would know. Cas rested his hand on Dean's hip, letting his fingers slide under his shirt to touch bare skin. Dean closed his eyes and willed himself to stay still.

"Relax," Cas whispered in his ear. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

"Goodnight, Cas." Dean closed his eyes and leaned into Castiel's embrace. He was dead tired and it felt kind of nice, if he was going to be honest about it. Besides, none of it was real and no one that mattered would know. So, why bother fighting it? It was mostly harmless, and they had clothes on.

* * *

The cookout at Sam's place was the most normal part of the whole nightmare so far. Beer, burgers, questionable macaroni salad, and a bunch of local hicks all talking shit about each other in somebody's back yard – The American dream, or as close as Dean would ever get to it. A bunch of guys were even playing horseshoes, while complaining about their wives. Thankfully, everyone pretty much left Dean alone. He sat in a lawn chair, with his feet up on an overturned milk crate near a fire pit that couldn't possibly be legal. Cas was sitting at a table nearby, talking with some of Sam's firefighter friends.

Dean was kind of glad he was mostly ignored. He wasn't in the mood for anything other than getting wasted enough to maybe die of alcohol poisoning. It was an act, he kept telling himself, the way he let Castiel cuddle him the night before. Waking up to Cas spooning him, with what had to nine inches of solid morning wood pressed against his ass crack, though... He chugged his entire third bottle of beer when someone finally decided to bother him.

"Good afternoon, Dean."

Dean choked on the beer, and lowered his sunglasses to get a look at the man sitting next to him on the bench closer to the fire pit.

"It's _you_!" He hissed, glaring daggers at Gabriel. Sure, he was wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt Dean had ever laid eyes on paired with pink aviator sunglasses, but there was no mistaking that shit eating grin. "You son of a bitch!"

"It's good to see you too, you lover boy." Gabriel smirked and passed Dean another beer.

"Yeah you had your fun, but play time is over," Dean threatened him as he popped the cap off the beer bottle, "Get me out of this nightmare now, or I am going to give you holy oil enemas until you crap a portal back to reality!"

"Oh, that's a good one! I'm so scared, I think I wet myself a little bit!" Gabriel laughed hysterically, but fell silent as his eye's met Dean's. "It's too bad I don't think you can actually get your hands on any holy oil. It doesn't come cheap, and you have an HOA to pay. How would you hold me down, anyway? Cassie won't be much help, he's just as human as you right now and he'd probably be a little weirded out by you shoving things up his brother's ass."

"Just shut up!"

"Here's the deal, buddy boy. There's a lesson in all this, and once you've learned it I'll send you home," Gabriel told him with a wink. "What you choose to with what you learn here, well, that's up to you, sweetheart."

"What lesson?" Dean demanded.

"Oh, you'll know when it... Comes for you. Until then, have fun with your husband."

Dean almost broke the beer bottle he was holding so tightly that his knuckles were white, as he barely managed to contain his anger. He considered smashing it into the tree next to him, and using the broken bits to slice Gabriel's throat apart, but there were too many witnesses and he'd just get his ass kicked. He settled for swearing under his breath and kicking the stone bench Gabriel had vacated so hard that he might have broken a few toes. With an aggravated sigh, Dean flopped back down into his chair and took a swig of beer.

"Hey, asswipe, get me another burger!" He yelled to Gabriel's back, and he only answered by flipping him off as he zoned in on some hot chick sitting near Sam.

"Is Gabe being a dick?" Castiel asked, sitting on the milk crate Dean had been using a foot stool before.

"Is he ever not a dick?"

Cas shrugged and handed Dean the burger he had asked for. "He's... Complicated, but his heart is in the right place."

"Of course, no one here would say anything _bad_ about him," Dead whispered to himself. Castiel did that stupid little head tilt of his, and stared at Dean like he was trying to see into his soul.

"Are you alright? It's not like you to avoid everyone," Castiel asked, picking at the potato salad on his paper plate.

"I'm just tired."

"Mm hm. Take a nice hot bath when we get home, and I'll give you a massage," Cas suggested. "Anyway, I think I have met my quota for forced social interaction for at least a month, so we're good to go whenever you get sick of sitting here getting drunk by yourself."

"Thank God." Dean practically inhaled his burger, and was out of his chair so fast he almost fell out of it. "I'll pass on the massage, though."

* * *

Later that night, Dean was sitting in bed with his work laptop, trying to piece together what he knew. Jess was probably a vengeful spirit. She wasted the guy that killed Victoria, because her death was similar. It was obvious, almost too obvious. Perhaps she had even caused it; Brian Finch had a CDL license. He could have been a truck driver. As for Victoria, though, Dean didn't have much. Jo had found the other two organ recipients. They were both dead as well. The other kidney was an "animal attack" on a hiking trail in upstate New York. The liver was ruled a suicide, as the body had washed up on the shore of the Delaware river some two weeks after the guy went missing. The coroner assumed he took a swan dive off a bridge nearby. What was her motivation, though? Why body parts? It would make more sense for her to haunt the road like Jess.

"Dean, we talked about this."

Dean looked up from the laptop. Cas was laying next to him, on his side wearing nothing but the same thin silk robe from the night before. Dean barely managed to hold back a particularly ugly outburst of swearing as Cas flipped the laptop closed.

"Cas, this is really important."

"So is your mental health," Cas replied, meeting his eyes. "Something's bothering you, I just can't put my finger on it."

Dean sighed and decided to play along. Talking about feelings seemed to satisfy Castiel's worrying about him to get some personal space. Or, he could just tell him the truth.

"This case... This is going to sound nuts, but it's connected to Jess," Dean explained, deciding to go with the truth, consequences be damned. "According to the police report, the guy that made road pizza out of the woman that was the organ donor saw something that night. He said he saw a woman in a wedding dress standing in the road. I looked up photos from the scene. The place where Victoria got splattered, was the same place Jess was standing when she... You know."

"Are you trying to say that her ghost is haunting the place?" Castiel asked, looking skeptical.

"I know, it's stupid, but... The guy that killed Victoria died the same night, in a hospital room. The walls were covered in blood, and his injuries looked like he got ran over by a truck. And, hospital staff reported him screaming about a woman covered in blood in his room moments before he died," Dean continued, and showed Castiel everything he had. "I have no idea what the actual fuck is going on here."

"Wait... What's that?" Castiel asked, zooming in on a photo of Victoria's decapitated head. "There, look. That's... Jess' bracelet on the ground next to her. The one she dropped when she died. I remember, because I picked it up and gave it to Sam. Dean, what is this?"

"He was wearing that, wasn't he? So it's not possible that it was actually there," Dean thought aloud, as he remembered the thin silver chain on Sam's wrist that he had a habit of absently touching. "I don't know, Cas. I _do_ know I'm completely freaked out."


	4. Chapter 4

For a brief moment, as he sank into the huge bathtub at the townhouse, Dean honestly thought that maybe this world Gabriel had cooked up wasn't so bad. The guy was a pain in the ass, but Dean had to admit that he had style. When in his life had Dean actually gotten to stew in a jacuzzi? Just once that he could recall, when he had to book a honeymoon suite on a hunt. So, what was the lesson he was supposed to be learning? It had to do with the case of Jess and Victoria, obviously, but then there was Cas. Maybe that was just to add an element of torment. Would he do that? To Castiel? ...Probably.

Somewhat grudgingly, Dean got out of the bath and wrapped himself in a towel. It had been a completely useless day at work. They had no new leads, and he wasn't sure how to ask Sam about the bracelet. It could be a cursed object sort of situation. The seemingly innocent silver chain with a heart charm on it had been the cause of Jess' death, after all. Jo seemed bored with the whole thing when she realized there probably wouldn't be any new victims seeing as all the organ donor recipients were dead. That was for the better. Keeping her out of it meant keeping her safe. Dean decided to scour the crime scene photos a bit more closely since Castiel noticed the bracelet in one. Nothing else seemed weird, though – other than the gore and dead bodies. So what was his next move?

With a sigh, he wandered back into the bedroom and put on a pair of jeans and an old ACDC shirt. Cas was downstairs cooking dinner, which was both terrifying and kind of awesome at the same time. Dean wondered if the real Castiel would ever enjoy something mundane like cooking, and felt a pang of guilt. For being someone that he cared for at least as much as Sam, he never really thought about Castiel's feelings about, well, anything. Angels were just God's perfect soldiers, and all Cas wanted was the right to think for himself. He'd chosen Dean's hopeless crusade against Lucifer and Michael over everything he had ever known. And what had Dean done? Thrown it in his face. Almost. If Castiel hadn't beat the living shit out of him and dragged him back to Bobby's, it would have all been over. He couldn't even bring himself to be mad at Cas. He must have healed the damage, because Dean felt fine when he woke up. He definitely had deserved to suffer at least a little bit more than that. Well, maybe he was suffering in his own way. Castiel hadn't visited since, nor answered when he prayed. Maybe it was already too late.

Cas had just finished setting the table when Dean finally decided to grace him with his presence. It wasn't an easy decision, and he wasn't sure what terrified him more: this ridiculous domesticity, or the fact that Cas was going to expect sex sooner or later.

"So, how was work, Angel?" Dean wanted to puke. He hated small talk with an undying passion and it was way too awkward to be affectionate with Cas, but something about the silence between them felt almost hostile.

"The usual," Castiel said, passing Dean a bottle of beer. "A couple of whiny teenagers that think they have something to be depressed about, and this insane old lady with a sex addiction."

"Well, that's gross," Dean said, imagining some pink-haired cougar on the prowl at the bar. God knew he'd been hit on by enough of those here and there.

"Tell me about it," Cas whined as he placed a pan full of vegetable stir fry on the table. "She told me – in detail – about how she used her cooking utensils as dildos, and then cooked dinner for her husband. Without washing them. It was some kind of petty revenge, apparently. He's like ninety and can't get it up anymore. Poor bastard."

"Gross," Dean repeated and glanced suspiciously at the wooden spoon in Castiel's hand.

"Oh, don't worry," He said with a smirk. "I'm not _that_ desperate. Yet."

"Sorry," Dean mumbled and picked at his food.

"I know you don't like 'rabbit food', but we need to go shopping. This was all we had."

"It's fine," Dean lied and speared a piece of broccoli with his fork. Was he imagining it, or was Cas pissed? Something in his tone of voice seemed off, but Dean dean didn't really know not-Castiel well enough to put his finger on it. It was the lack of sex, obviously. It had been almost a week, and he had been less than subtle about how badly he wanted it. Dean sighed and downed half his beer in one gulp. He had to get through this somehow.

"Would it be weird to have a gay crisis all over again?"

Castiel sighed and finished Dean's beer. "Alright, start talking. Is it the nightmares you've been having? This case you're working? What?"

"My father would kill me if he wasn't already dead," Dean explained. It wasn't a lie, not really. John was a product of his own upbringing. He was a good person who cared about his kids, yes, but he could be... Closed minded about certain things. Homosexuality was one of them. Once, while he had actually been around for New Year's, they were listening to an Elton John song on the radio in the car. John had called him a faggot and switched the station. Sam seemed indifferent, probably too young to actually care at the time. Dean, who as a child wanted nothing more than satisfy his father's expectations for him, decided then that it was wrong to be gay. Granted, he didn't care what other people did, but the very idea of it was off limits to him.

"Your father raised you to be a soldier, without much consideration for your future other than survival. You and Sam both hardly know how to function like normal people," Cas said thoughtfully. "Is that really it, though? I know you aren't telling me everything about the nightmares."

Dean stared silently at the food he'd barely touched, and prodded a bit of mushroom with his fork. He didn't even know how to put words to how he felt about the whole thing. He wasn't having a gay crisis, not really. He'd have to be, well, _gay_ for that to be a thing. He didn't look at Castiel and think, hey, I'd hit that. He didn't feel anything, really. The real Cas, maybe. Not on a physical level, though. It was almost terrifying how deeply he cared about the real Castiel. Cas had dragged him out of Hell, after all. Dean absently picked at his shoulder where Castiel's hand print belonged. It wasn't there in this fake world, and Dean felt strangely naked without it.

"So, let's handle this the way we did the first time, then." Dean looked up at Castiel as he spoke, with a frown on his face. "Baby steps."

"Baby steps?" Dean repeated, giving Cas a questioning sort of glance.

"We'll take it one thing at a time, as far as you're comfortable with," Castiel told him. "If you want to stop, we'll stop and pick up where we left off later. I know you normally prefer a more submissive role, but it might be best if we switch that up for now."

"A... Submissive role?" Dean thought he might pass out. Not only was he married to Cas, he was the _bottom_? Oh, hell no. Fuck Gabriel so much. Dean nearly did pass out, when he realized he'd simply stopped breathing.

"Dean?"

"I – I'm not hungry. I'll be upstairs when you're done. Thanks for dinner, anyway."

Dean nearly sprinted up the stairs. He stared at his startled reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had to get out of this somehow. He dug his phone out of his pocket, found Gabriel's number, and started typing out a novel of a text message – like a pissy teenage girl.

_You win. I took Cas for granted and I need to make it up to him. Lesson learned, get me out of here. This isn't funny. I don't deserve this. This is worse than Sam's stupid time loop. I mean, what the shit, man? What would Cas think? Anyway, I'll pray to him and beg for his forgiveness, whatever. LET ME GO. There's kind of an apocalypse_ _going on! Or did you forget about the god damned APOCALYPSE. _

_Newsflash, sweetie_ _. This lesson has nothing to do with Asstiel. _

_Please._

_No._

_Fuck you._

_Try fucking Cas. He's a perfect replica of the real thing_ _, except that he actually understands his own emotions._

_What am I supposed to learn from fucking one of your illusions?_

_That's for you to decide, moron. Trust me, try it._

_Once again, fuck you._

_Once again, fuck Cas. Or let him fuck you. Whatever._

Dean erased the texts and threw the phone against the wall as Castiel walked into the bedroom.

"Everything okay?" Cas asked, sitting beside Dean.

"My boss is a douche," Dean lied and rubbed his eyes that he could barely keep open. He hadn't realized how tired he was. "Wants me to work a double tomorrow."

"Are you going to?"

"We have to go shopping." Dean flopped backward into the pile of pillows on his side of the bed.

Even though it all was an illusion, something about Cas did feel real – familiar, sort of. Gabriel knew him at least as well as Dean, probably more so. A perfect copy... Did that mean that Castiel's feelings for Dean were... He shook his head as if it would dash the thought from his mind. What had he ever done that would suggest that? Nothing, right? They were friends, that's all. He looked up into Castiel's too blue eyes, and tried to figure out what to do. He could give in. It wasn't like anyone would know. He could just get it over with, and go home. Sam and Bobby would never believe he had been Castiel's bitch in an alternate dimension, and no one else's opinion mattered in the slightest. He'd been through worse. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lied to them, but Cas... Cas could read his mind.

"Hey Cas?"

"Yes?"

"What should I do?"

Castiel smiled slightly, and laid down beside him. Dean held his breath as Castiel placed a soft, chaste kiss to his forehead.

"Whatever you want to do, Dean."

"I kind of want to crawl in a hole and die," He said dejectedly and screwed his eyes shut.

"Not that," Cas chastised him. "You're doing the same thing as last time – thinking that there is something wrong with you because you feel this way. There's nothing wrong. You have this sort of unconscious fear of being happy, that if something feels good you can't have it or something bad will happen because you're too happy."

"Well, you're not wrong," Dean replied, hating how accurate the statement was.

"You deserve to be loved, Dean. You just have to let go and trust me. You used to, after all. That doesn't have to change. My feelings for you won't change." Castiel pulled Dean close and stroked his hair gently.

Dean fought every instinct that told him to push Cas away. "I don't deserve it," He said, shaking his head. "I don't deserve you. This life – none of it. You should have left me in Hell. All I ever do is let people down."

Castiel held him tighter, as if he knew Dean would probably run if he let him go. "You aren't perfect, no one is, but how many lives have you saved? You don't see it, but you matter – not just to me, either. Think of Sam, and how much he's accomplished because you never give up on him. What happened to Jess wasn't your fault, if that's what's bothering you. There wasn't anything you could have done."

"And what about you, Cas?" Dean asked, on the verge of breaking down and crying like a little girl. "What am I to you?"

"Everything," Cas said quietly, letting his fingers trail along Dean's spine and under the edge of his shirt to touch bare skin. "I didn't think that anything I have done actually mattered. I didn't think my work was important. Meeting you changed that. I sacrificed everything for you and no matter how bad things get, you never give up. That made me understand that I can make a difference. Whenever I feel like giving up, that the odds are against me, I think of you and I can work miracles. Well, not actual miracles, it's not like I'm an angel or something."

"You're _my_ angel," Dean whispered, blinking back tears. If he was really an exact replica of the real Castiel, then his feelings would be the same, right? If that was true, did that mean that Cas... _Loved_ him? Gabriel could have been lying. He made that stupid college kid think he slow danced with an alien, after all. Why would he fall for this shit? But more importantly, why did he want it to be true? Either way, he'd had enough of this chick flick drama. Dean pulled away from Castiel and slipped his shoes back on.

"Dean? Where are you going?" Castiel asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"For a drive. I need to be alone. To clear my head." He picked up his phone, that now sported a broken screen, off the floor and shoved it in his back pocket.

"Did I...? Was it something I said?"

"It's not you, Cas."

Dean got in the Impala and drove, probably breaking all of the local speed laws. He couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't even know where he was going, he just drove – only slowing down a bit when he passed a sign that said 'Welcome to New York'. His frayed nerves calmed a bit once he was behind the wheel. There wasn't an arsenal in the trunk, but it was his Baby and he needed the familiarity. If only Sam was snoring in the passenger seat, he might have been able to lie to himself and pretend he was in the real world.

After about half an hour of driving, he found himself in a little town called Warwick. He decided he liked it there, that it reminded him a bit of Lawrence. Dean parked the Impala and wandered into a cafe on a street corner next to an art supply store. Something about the town reeked of hipsters and hippies, but Dean liked it. And hey, how could he possibly complain about a cafe that had a sandwich called the 'kitchen sink' that was basically a garbage pizza in sandwich form. The place was almost a slice of heaven, and the gorgeous girl working the counter in daisy dukes and a cut-off top was like a breath of fresh air. He found a table in a corner near the window, and decided to stew there for a while until he figured out what his next move was.

Absently, he pulled out his broken phone and ran his thumb across the shattered screen. Miraculously, it still worked and and he had several missed texts – two from Cas, one from Sam, and another from Gabriel. He opened the messages from Cas.

_I understand if you need to be alone, but please be safe._

_I love you._

_Cas called me freaking out because you left. Everything okay? He's really worried about you. _That one was from Sam, along with two missed calls from him. He thought about replying, but decided to leave it be. He didn't want to talk to anyone.

_Don't do anything stupid, honey. This isn't like dealing with a Djinn. If you kill yourself, you aren't going to wake up. You'll just be dead, and despite what you might think that won't be better. _Damn Gabriel and his tricks. What was he trying to accomplish anyway? The more Dean thought about the case he was working, the more it felt like a distraction – a trap to keep him busy with no real closure.

"I knew you'd be here."

Dean looked up from his phone and rolled his eyes."Hi Sammy."

"So, what happened?" Sam asked, sitting down and taking a sip of the coffee he must have picked up on the way in.

"Nothing." Dean said, truthfully. Nothing had happened, really. His brain was working on overload, and he needed to clear his head. That was all, literally.

"Dean, talk."

"Damn it, I just..." His voice trailed off and he stared vacantly out the window at the cars driving by. "Do you ever stop and think that nothing feels real? That maybe you're living in some kind of nightmare, but you can't wake up?"

"Do you mean clinical depression, or like that shitty Truman Show movie?" Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

"The fucking Truman Show," Dean said, smiling slightly in spite of himself.

"Yeah sometimes, I mean, our lives are like a soap opera on crack," His eyes met Dean's. "Really, though. Cas is worried about you. What's wrong, Dean?"

"Jesus, Sam, everything." Dean picked at the remains of his sandwich. "I think I have PTSD."

Sam let out a bark of laughter and choked on his coffee. "Seriously?"

"That's... That's why I met Cas in the first place, wasn't it?" Dean realized, some of the pieces starting to fit together.

"Yeah, Jess' death hit you harder than it did me. I never blamed myself, only the guy that killed her. You personally thought it was your fault, and holding in all that guilt almost killed you. I got tired of how miserable and sleep deprived you were all time, so I made you go see Cas." Sam stole a leftover french fry from Dean's plate.

"I'm surprised that you were okay with it – with Cas and I," Dean said, curiously. How did Sam feel about them? He seemed to trust Castiel in the real world, and Castiel was obviously fond of Sam, in spite of his darker side.

"Why wouldn't I be? I know Dad must be rolling in his grave, but you're happy and that's all that matters," Sam replied. "You _are_ happy, right?"

"My job can fuck right off, but Cas is good to me," Dean told him, honestly. Maybe he wasn't comfortable with the idea of his marriage to Cas, but he couldn't deny that dreamworld Cas was the model spouse. The real Cas never let him down, either. Guilt washed over Dean and he wished he could drop dead. Cas had given so much for him, and Sam, but Dean hadn't thought of any of that when he ran off to go be Michael's meatsuit. If the roles were reversed, he doubted he'd be able to forgive him.

"Go home, Dean. And call off work tomorrow. Tell that ass you have for a boss that you have the shits, or something," Sam said, yawning.

"...Yeah. Wait. Did _you _just tell me to _call off_ work? Who are you, and where is Sam?"

"Right here, and I'll be by in the afternoon to make sure you called off."

Dean laughed and shook his head. "This is definitely the Truman Show."


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean woke up the following morning, it was to his phone ringing instead of the alarm clock that he had surprisingly gotten used to. He fumbled around trying to grab it off the bed stand and held it to his ear without even opening his eyes.

"Good morning Mister Winchester, This is Anna from Doctor Winchester's office. I'm just calling to confirm your appointment for 12:30. Will you be able to make it in? I apologize for the short notice; you were only penciled in on the schedule this morning."

Dean rolled over to find Castiel's side of the bed empty. The clock read 9:30. Holy shit. Between Sam and now Cas, Dean couldn't remember the last time he had slept past six.

"Yeah, okay." Dawn yawned. "What's the address again?"

He grudgingly dragged himself out of bed. "I must really be in trouble," Dean said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He hadn't spoken to Castiel when he returned the previous night. He had either been asleep or faking sleep, so Dean just quietly slipped into bed. He hadn't slept well. He woke up several times in a cold sweat, running from hellhounds and even a wendigo.

"Wait. How am I going to get there if he has the car?" Dean ran to the garage to make sure that Cas did, indeed, have Baby. "Balls."

After a shower, and a thoroughly embarrassing phone call to Gabriel (because Sam wouldn't answer and Jo was sure to be working), Dean was on his way to Castiel's office.

"You drive a fucking Hyundai?" Dean asked incredulously as he climbed into the passenger side of Gabriel's black SUV. "You created this world; you could have a Ferrari, and you chose a Hyundai. What's wrong with you, man?"

"We live in the mountains, you need four wheel drive here," Gabriel said flatly. "So, what part of this is so hard for you?"

"Oh I don't know," Dean said icily, "All of it, maybe."

"Okay, I'll let you in on a little secret." Dean rolled his eyes as Gabriel spoke. "It wasn't my choice to put you here at first. Imagine my surprise when Sammich prayed to _me_ and asked for a favor because he was tired of your shit – both you _and _Chuckles."

"You are so full of it. Sam wouldn't want this," Dean snapped, staring pointedly at the road ahead.

"Sam notices more than you think," Gabriel countered as he pulled into the parking lot for the medical complex that Castiel worked out of. "His office is on the third floor. Get out of my car."

"Thanks for the lift. Eat crap."

There were only two other people in the waiting room in Castiel's office. An elderly man, and his wife who kept glaring daggers at him as he tried to read an old magazine. Dean couldn't help but wonder if they were the lucky couple Cas had mentioned the night before. He ignored them and walked up to the receptionist. Of course it was _that_ Anna. Did Gabriel forget what she did to him? To Cas? Dean shook his head and greeted her.

"I'd ask how you are doing, but if you're here, well..."

"How pissed is he?" Dean asked as he filled out the paperwork.

"Enough to bill your insurance instead of writing it off," Anna answered with a smirk. "I think he's more worried than angry, though. I know it's none of my business, but I hope you can fix whatever this is."

"Me too," Dean mumbled, honestly enough.

The waiting almost killed him. He was never a patient person to begin with, but Gabriel had dropped him off almost an hour early. He tried checking the news for anything related to his case, but he could hardly read anything on the cracked phone screen. After what felt like an eternity, Anna called him into the office. He didn't say anything to her as she led him down a narrow hallway decorated with abstract art prints sort of the like the ones in the townhouse bedroom. He knew she was only an illusion, but all he could see was the psycho angel who tried to kill his parents. He continued ignoring her as she opened the door to the room where Cas was waiting for him. He closed it behind him and took a look around.

The place was a lot less clinical than he expected, with just the right amount of clutter to make it look like someone actually worked there. Still, the décor was minimalist and abstract. Somehow, it suited Castiel perfectly. He was sitting in a large, comfy looking armchair scribbling notes in a journal, and didn't even look up as Dean crossed the room and sat on the couch near him.

"So, I'm here," Dean said. "This had better be good, because I had to ask Gabe to drive me here, and I think you know how I feel about that."

"He's a lot fonder of you than you think," Castiel answered and placed his journal on the table next to his chair. "So, let's get started. ...From square one, apparently."

"Huh?"

"It's your choice if you would rather work with me, or one of my colleagues if you're not comfortable with me. But, given the situation as it is, you need to be here," Castiel told him. "I can't get you to talk at home, so here we are. The normal rules apply: nothing we discuss leaves this room, and you can leave at any time. Also, as long as we are here, we are doctor and patient – not a married couple."

"Cas, I don't think I need -"

"You constantly have nightmares, you won't let me touch you, and you're always on edge," Castiel countered. "I can get you a different psychotherapist, if you would prefer, but you need help."

"No. You're fine." If he could leave any time, why stress that he needed to be there? And, why was he still there? Oh, right. It was a long walk home.

"Let's get started then. Tell me about the nightmares." Cas grabbed a different journal from his table and opened it to a place somewhere in the middle. This one had a green cover and looked well-used. Dean could read his name on the spine.

Dean considered lying but remembered that while this Cas couldn't literally read his mind, he knew all of his tells – and wouldn't hesitate to call him out on it. He looked up and met Castiel's eyes. Was it really that long of a walk?

"I told you about the one with the hellhounds. I have that one a lot," Dean said, turning his gaze to the open window and the view of a cornfield on the other side of the street. "Also, I dream of when my mother died pretty often."

"You mother died in a house fire, right? When you and Sam were children?"

"Yeah," Dean said noncommittally. "Our dad raised us after that. We were always on the road. Never stayed in one town more than a week. Sam and I grew up in the back of the Impala, when we weren't shacked up in shitty motel rooms and left to fend for ourselves when Dad was 'working'. You know all of this, Cas."

"Yes, but talking about it helps." Castiel checked something in his journal and turned back to Dean. "You don't think your father would have approved of our relationship."

"I think he would have been pissed, and an asshole about it for a while, but I know he would have eventually gotten over it," Dean replied. "He thought it was disgusting or something, I don't really know. It wasn't something we talked about. Either way, if he was still alive we wouldn't need to have this conversation because I never would have wound up in bed with you."

"And do you agree that it is wrong? Or, did you in the past?" Cas pressed.

Dean stared at the carpet beneath his feet. Anything to avoid meeting Castiel's gaze. "Not really. I never thought about it, just that being gay wasn't an option for me."

"Yes, but how do you actually _feel_ about it? Do you find it repulsive?"

"No, just... That I shouldn't be doing it. That I'm not _allowed. _Did you ever sneak out on mischief night as a kid? Or, raid your parents fridge for a beer as a teenager? You know that feeling you get then, like you're dead meat if you get caught? It's kind of an adrenaline rush, but also completely terrifying and you're too busy checking the shadows to actually enjoy egging the shit out of your dickbag neighbor's car. It's like that feeling. Something you really want to do, but you know you know your ass is grass if someone sees you," Dean explained, and fell silent once he realized he was rambling. "I – I never thought about it before, before you I mean."

"So you are ashamed?" Cas inquired.

"No, not really. 'Shame' kind of isn't in my vocabulary. Just ask Sam about the shit I used to get up to when we skipped town and hit a new bar, but you know that too." Dean fidgeted uncomfortably. What was Cas actually trying to get out of him?

"So, what really scares you more? Commitment, or being gay?" Cas asked.

"Once upon a time I would have said commitment, but I don't think that was ever on the table at all, considering my lifestyle at the time. It wasn't like I was ever around long enough to get attached." He finally looked up and met Castiel's eyes. "What really scares me is losing you, that you won't forgive me. That you... won't come back."

"I didn't go anywhere," Castiel said frowning.

"I know," Dean said, as the realization hit him like a sack full of bricks. Castiel hadn't left when he dumped him at Bobby's. Where would have even gone? He was probably just being a creep and watching over him as always. If not, he was certainly nearby. He smiled in spite of himself. Cas would answer if he called, but only if Dean was willing to be an adult about the whole mess. Why did that make him feel so much better, though? He still fucked up.

"It seems to me, that the crisis you are having has less to do with homosexuality, and more to do with being unable to acknowledge your true feelings. You aren't, even after all this time, used to the idea that you can actually love someone other than Sam, or any other way than as family," Cas explained calmly. "It isn't that you don't feel that way, you just don't know how, and you are afraid of it because everyone you get too close to winds up in a bad way. Because of that unconscious fear, you may not recognize emotions for what they actually are. PTSD is a bitch, Dean. It's not just panic attacks and nightmares. It's questioning everything, and trusting nothing."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Dean said, barely able to find his voice. Did that mean...? He thought about the real Castiel – the way his gaze would linger on Cas just a little longer than it should have, or how his heart beat a little faster whenever the angel touched him. If he thought about it, he always felt calm when Cas was around, like everything was fine as long as his angel was nearby. He noticed stupid little things too, like how he liked the tousled look of Castiel's hair, how he could get lost in the depths of his brilliant blue eyes, or the way he smelled – like the air on a chilly autumn day. Oh, God. He was so fucked. And the worst part? Not-Cas was right. He was terrified.

* * *

After the therapy session from hell Dean found himself at the little diner in town, stuffed in a corner booth with Cas, Sam and Gabe. He had his face firmly planted on the table, resting his head on his arm and facing the wall. Of course he was sitting next to Gabe. He wanted to stab him with his fork, but he barely had the motivation to breathe.

Castiel. He was_ in love _with Castiel. It wasn't a gay thing. It was a Cas thing. He could get past his vessel being a dude, probably with a little patience and trail and error. Well, as long as Jimmy wasn't getting a front row seat to the action. It was still weird. But what did Cas even want? He was an immortal being with incredible power. Dean was human. The whole idea was stupid. He dragged him out of hell. He gave up heaven to fight for free will at Dean's side. What would he even say to him? 'Hey, I majorly fucked up and threw all your sacrifices in your face. By the way, I think I'm maybe sort of in love with you'. No, because Dean didn't do chick flick moments. He didn't do romance, and silly love stories. And Cas didn't do emotional bullshit, either – if he even understood emotions. And there was the single difference between dreamland Cas and the real Cas: Humanity. Everything else was the same. Well, that and the trench coat. Not-Cas liked dress slacks, crisp button down shirts, fancy ties and sweater vests. The worst part? He looked amazing in them.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, reaching across the table to prod his shoulder.

"Therapy fucking sucks," He complained without moving.

"I hear my baby brother is merciless, too." Gabe chuckled and gave Cas a sideways glance.

"Only when necessary," Cas commented with a hint of a smile. "You need to eat something, Dean. Either pick up that menu and decide, or I will decide for you."

Dean only grunted in reply and closed his eyes. He didn't feel like eating. He might puke if he ate. All he could think of was how much he fucked up, and how much it scared him – worse than anything he had ever hunted, including Lucifer. Oddly, he was less worried about Cas forgiving him, and more afraid of himself. How could he fall in love with someone like a pining teenage girl, and not even notice because he was too busy jumping at shadows? How had he let it get that far in the first place? It had to be a one-way ticket straight to hell to elope with an angel. He really didn't want to go to hell again. However, he might as well be in hell if he couldn't fix things with Castiel.

"Cas, I think you broke him," Sam said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Dean could almost hear his bitch face. He kicked someone under the table. It could have been Sam, but it also might have been Cas. He didn't feel like looking up to make sure.

"Fine, bacon cheeseburger it is." Cas reached across the table to ruffle Dean's hair affectionately. "You know, we still need to go shopping. I'm going to get fat if I keep eating this junk."

"I don't trust you with kitchen utensils," Dean grumbled, and finally sat up.

"Like I said last night, not that desperate," Cas replied with a knowing smirk. Sam and Gabe shared a glance that very plainly said 'I don't want to know'.

On the way out of the diner, Gabe grabbed Dean by the wrist as the other two walked on ahead toward their cars. "You're starting to understand. Good."

"Can I go home now?" Dean choked out, hoping Gabe couldn't see how red his face must have been.

"If you want, but I would recommend staying a bit. You still have some learning to do, and the real Cas won't be as easy to deal with – especially if you don't know where to put your dick," Gabriel said and winked suggestively.

"Seriously?" Dean complained. "That seems so... Wrong. Both ways, actually. This one's just an illusion, and the real one... Am I gonna get hit by lightening? Besides, what about the case you had me working?"

"What case? That was a bit of fun to make you chase your tail because I can. In the real world, though, boy are you two imbeciles barking up the wrong tree. Anyway, think of the rest as a training simulation," Gabe suggested and started walking toward his unassuming Hyundai. "Text me when you're ready. Play around as long as you want. Time is irrelevant here."

A training simulation? Really? He shook his head and got in the passenger seat of the Impala. It wasn't a bad idea. On one hand, if it ever got that far with the real Cas, he would want his first time with a man to be with him. On the other hand, it would be doing Cas a disservice because it would be awkward as hell if he didn't know what he was doing. Which would be ten times worse because Dean was positive Castiel was still a virgin. He could do a lot of damage if he fucked that up. Gabe had a point. He glanced at Cas as he drove, his crystal clear blue eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Cas? Can we go home – do the shopping later or in the morning?" Dean asked.

"Sure, did you want to rest? I can go alone if you want to lie down," Cas replied. "I left the schedule open for the rest of the day, so I don't need to go back to work."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Do you mean today or in general, because yes to both. I'm not angry with you, Dean. Maybe disappointed that it basically took staging an intervention to get you to talk, but I understand why." He reached over and gathered up Dean's hand in his. "We'll spend the rest of the day together. Go home and watch a movie in bed or something."

"That sounds good," Dean agreed. "The Thai place by the police station delivers if you want food that's not complete garbage. I'll have some of whatever you get."

"Alright, It's a date."


	6. Chapter 6

About four hours into a Lord of the Rings marathon, Cas was passed out – snoring quietly with his head resting on Dean's shoulder. Really, the domesticity was disgusting. Even if he did manage to get the real Cas to forgive him for being a dick, Dean knew damn well he would never have a life like this. The more he thought about it, and recalled his time with Lisa, Dean knew he didn't really _want_ that apple pie life. Truth be told, it was boring. The same thing every day, and the most exciting thing to happen all week might have been killing a spider on the bathroom wall so Lisa would stop complaining about it. He missed having a family, especially Ben, but it wasn't long before he had grown restless.

"Things are never boring with you, though, are they?" He asked the sleeping psychotherapist. Cas didn't stir. Dean picked up the remote for the TV and turned it off. It wasn't that he didn't like Lord of the Rings; he was just tired and more conflicted that he had ever been. He wondered if the real Castiel would marathon Lord of the Rings for no good reason, other than to sit around together eating too much junk food. He could almost imagine it – the two of them sitting on Bobby's couch, while Cas asked too many stupid questions about the movies, and Sam got pissy because he was doing all the work. Bobby would just roll his eyes and tell them to get a room. It wasn't that unrealistic; it _could_ happen.

"Hey, wake up," Dean said and nudged Cas with his elbow.

"What time is it?" Castiel mumbled, and yawned. He stretched like a cat as he leaned over and pinned Dean beneath him. "You turned the movie off. Why?"

"You fell asleep," Dean replied, trying somewhat uselessly to keep himself from tensing up like a scared rabbit.

He was just over thinking everything, he knew that, so why was it still his first reaction to flee? The uncertainty, Dean rationalized, had to come from lack of experience. He wasn't comfortable with any situation, sexual or otherwise, that he wasn't completely in control of. Girls were easy. It was like riding a bike, get enough practice and you can do it without thinking. He knew what to say to get them in bed, exactly where to touch them, and how to make them beg for it – all without actually _thinking _about it . He had no idea what to do with Cas, except to let it happen and hope for the best. Which, obviously, was way out of Dean's comfort zone – never mind the whole gay thing. He _had_ to do it, though. On the way home, he had told Cas that – that he wanted to try. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. He was in over his head, and he knew it.

"Relax, Dean." Dean, of course, did the complete opposite as Cas kissed a sensitive spot near the base of his throat and slipped his fingers under the waistband of Dean's sweatpants.

"Cas, listen, I want this, but... I'm probably going to be a little bitch about it," Dean said, looking up into Castiel's eyes that widened slightly as he regarded him with a curious expression on his face. "What I mean is don't let me be a little bitch, just... Do it anyway."

"I am not going to force you to do something you aren't comfortable with, Dean," Castiel said pulling back slightly. "That's hardly going to help you _trust me_, which is what you need to do."

"Damn it, Cas. I have to do this. Once I get it over with I'll feel better. Probably. So just-"

Cas silenced him with a soft kiss. "Take a few deep breaths, close your eyes and just feel. Don't think; just _feel_."

He could do that, maybe. Dean sighed and closed his eyes. If he couldn't trust Cas, then who could he? Still, he barely trusted himself on a good day. This, though, this was less like trust and more like complete surrender. Dean let Cas pull his shirt off, and kiss him deeply as he held him close. If he didn't think about it too much, it wasn't that different from being with a woman – except that the body pressed against his was much firmer than what he was used to. Still, Castiel's touch was incredibly light. He knew every little spot that made Dean pant and gasp as he caressed him with that feathery touch.

* * *

Dean stayed awake most of the night, staring into space – alone with his thoughts. Cas had fallen asleep, cuddled up to Dean, not long after they got out of the shower. Absently, Dean fiddled with his phone that he held in his hands. _I'm ready, _he typed into a text meant for Gabriel, but he couldn't seem to find the willpower to hit send. Dean unlocked the phone and stared at the text one more time; his thumb hovered over the send button. He locked the phone screen and sat it down on the nightstand. He sighed and slipped out of Castiel's arms, careful not to wake him.

Maybe he should stay for a little while longer – at least until he managed to talk Cas into sex in the Impala. Dean was starting to like the world Gabe had cooked up. His job didn't _completely_ suck, and wasn't likely to kill him. He was married to his best friend, who happened to know how to fuck him like a god damned porn star slash sex god. On top of it, he had a home – a really nice one at that. He shook his head, as if to dash the thoughts from his mind. He knew better than to consider living in a fantasy.

Cas mumbled something in his sleep, and Dean threw his hideous blue patchwork quilt over him. Dean put his shoes on, and considered driving to the little cafe he had found in Warwick, but changed his mind. If he left, Cas might think he had freaked out and ran again. Maybe he would just go for a walk around the neighborhood. Sure, it was the middle of the night but Dean knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. He grabbed his phone and shoved it in his pocket, before heading out into the night.

He hated to admit it, but he was starting to understand why Sam liked going running in the early morning. It was peaceful, everyone else was in bed, and no one was around to have any other expectations for him. The most dangerous thing he saw was a stray cat trying to raid a trashcan. The only sounds were crickets and peeper frogs. Dean found his way to the little playground in the middle of the neighborhood and sat on a bench near the swings. He yawned and looked up at the stars dotting the night sky.

If he was going to be honest with himself, he was afraid. Mostly, he was afraid Cas wouldn't even talk to him. And then, if he did, what would Dean tell him? What would he do when Castiel inevitably didn't understand, or wanted no part of it? Even Gabe had said it, really, this nightmare wasn't about Castiel; it was about Dean. There was no reason that Castiel would feel the same way about him. Sure, the one in this world that was supposedly a perfect copy was mindlessly in love with him. As far as Dean knew, that was just another illusion. And what about Sam? Had he _really _prayed to Gabriel – about _this_? The world was falling apart, and he asked the only Archangel that wasn't a complete dickbag to play cupid? Damn it, Sam.

"That sad sack of emotional baggage betrayed everything he's ever known to save your ass." Dean nearly fell off the bench and swore venomously under his breath. How long had Gabriel been sitting next to him? He didn't want to know.

"What do you want now?"

"To give you some advice. Buckle up bitch, because there's a rant coming," Gabriel said, picking at the peeling paint on the park bench. "You're right, Castiel probably doesn't feel what you do. Not yet. But at the end of the day, that moron would die for you – or worse. You see, it's not that angels don't have feelings. They do, they just have no idea what to _do_ with them because they can't get a handle on free will. I do, and Cas does – well, sort of. We've been down here long enough to understand that there's more to existing that following orders blindly. I've been here, or there, whatever – on earth – for a _very _long time. It took me centuries to learn what it means to truly have free will, to acknowledge my own desires and ambitions. Cas, he needs a little help, but he knows he gave up on what he was 'meant' to be when he chose your crusade instead of letting Michael and Lucifer have their little pissing match. What I'm saying is, it won't be easy, and he'll probably run from it – from you, but he has the capacity to think for himself. Deep down, he knows it, too. The problem, is that it terrifies him – something you can relate to. I would have trapped Cas in here with a copy of you, but we both know he could 'mojo' his way out. So it's up to you to get him to pull his head out of his ass."

"How the actual fuck am I supposed to do that?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes. "Do you know what I know about relationships? How to get out of dodge before they wake up, and not leave behind any child support cases. That's it. This... I'm going to make a mess of this."

"No, you won't."

"What makes you so sure, asshat?" Dean snapped bitterly.

"Because you care, shithead," Gabriel countered. "As long as you care, you'll make it work. I'm just telling you not to give up when Castiel runs, because he will run. What makes the difference is whether or not you run after him. He'll never admit it, not to me, but he's scared and he feels lost without his connection to Heaven. Perhaps, similar to how you felt when your father died."

"Because any of that makes sense," Dean complained, getting up from the bench. "And don't you bring up my old man."

"You had to learn to find your own way without him, and that is what Cas is going through now, except he never knew he _could_ make his own choices. Get over your petty emotional constipation, Dean, because he needs you – maybe more than you need him," Gabriel said, without a trace of his usual humor. "So, are you going to send that text, or do you want to keep playing house? You can stay if you want, if you aren't sure."

"Shut up! I... Fine. Send me back."

"Are you sure? You don't want to... Learn anything else?"

"Damn it. I know that I can do it, that's enough. I can't waste all these new experiences on a knock-off with a psychology degree," Dean snapped and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. He pulled out his phone, and after a moment's hesitation, hit the send button – before throwing it at Gabriel's face. He caught it and ran his thumb across the broken screen.

"Good luck, kiddo." Gabriel snapped his fingers. "See you on the other side."


	7. Chapter 7

Something about the woodlands Dean was wondering through seemed familiar, like he had been there before but the memory seemed to hover just on the edge of his consciousness. He knelt beside a small stream and splashed some of the clear water on his face in a useless attempt to scrub off some of the blood that was caked on his face. Where had it come from? He couldn't remember. He picked at the dried blood that was still stuck in the corners of his fingernails. He tensed at the sound of rustling leaves nearby and picked up the blood-soaked machete that he had laid on the ground beside him.

"Son of a bitch, not again!" Dean just managed to avoid being shredded by the invisible claws that tore through his flannel. Hellhounds – several of them judging by the chorus of howls that erupted though the trees. He was ahead of them, it seemed. He bolted across the small stream and ran as fast as his feet could carry him in the opposite direction. He wasn't gaining enough ground. People couldn't just outrun hellhounds; if they could, the demons would have come up with a better way to collect on their deals. If he could just make it a littler further... Dean gasped and stopped dead in his tracks, at the edge of a cliff that had been hidden by the dense forest. It was a straight drop several hundred feet down, and he was cornered. Just as he realized he was fucked, he screamed in agony as at least one hellhound's claws found their mark, and the force of the impact sent him tumbling off the edge of the cliff.

Dean woke up screaming, and smashed his face into a solid surface as he struggled to throw the imaginary hellhound off of him. Panting for breath, he realized he was having another nightmare. The surface he had nearly concussed himself against was the passenger side window of the Impala. Safe, he realized and managed to rein in the rising panic. He yawned and stretched like a cat as he struggled to recall what he had been doing before falling asleep. Baby was parked on the side of the street in front of the ski lodge in Vernon. That was right, they were heading there to investigate a strange death and Sam had been driving since Dean hadn't slept well the night before. Nightmares, of course. They were only getting worse as time went on. So, that meant Sam had gone ahead to question the hotel manager.

"Should have woken me up at least, Sammy." Dean climbed out of the car and tried somewhat hopelessly to smooth the wrinkles out of his fed suit. He really needed to take the thing to a dry cleaner, if he could remember to be bothered with it.

Dean heard Sam before he saw him. He was standing right in the lobby, near the check in counter, asking the hotel manager the usual questions about strange lights and smells. Dean winked at him, and pointed at the elevator. Sam gave him a slight nod. As Dean stepped into the elevator, his phone buzzed.

_Room 222,_ Sam texted him. _Vengeful spirit?_

Dean pocketed his phone and pressed the button for the second floor. Really, the place reminded him of a shitty casino – trying too hard to be ritzy and just a little over the top with the brightly colored décor. It was as fake as the FBI badge in the his pocket. When Dean thought of a ski lodge, he thought of a run-down cabin halfway up a mountain somewhere in Colorado. The kind of place that reeked of woodsmoke and had hideous handmade quilts draped on all the furniture – not a five star hotel. A fleeting image of Castiel's fugly blue patchwork quilt from Gabriel's 'training simulation' came to mind, and Dean rolled his eyes. He'd have to call Cas and at least get back to being able to have a civil conversation. He would need to do it later when he had an excuse to ditch Sam back at their far less extravagant dump of a motel room.

"Open Sesame," Dean said to the empty hallway as he kicked open the door to room #222. "Yikes," He mumbled when he saw the charred outline of a body scorched into the wannabe retro printed carpet that looked like it belonged in a mall arcade. Luckily, aside from removing the body the police hadn't touched the scene yet. All they knew, was the guy had died of severe electrocution, nowhere near enough to a source of electricity. Dean pulled out his EMF reader, which went crazy around the entire room and only had a weak signal near the bathroom and hallway entrance doors. There wasn't any blood, or signs of a struggle – other than a few things that had been knocked off the nearby coffee table, probably while the guy was thrashing around. The door and windows, of course, had been locked. Unless Sam got something on the security cameras in the hallway, Dean had nothing concrete. ...Or not.

He barely noticed it as he went to take a look at the bathroom, but something caught his eye – dripping out of the outlet near the left night stand. Ectoplasm, Dean realized, rubbing the sticky black liquid across his thumb. He absently wiped it on his jeans and pulled out his phone.

_EMF and ectoplasm,_ He texted Sam, _Vengeful spirit._

For good measure, he snapped a few photos of the scorched carpet and the ectoplasm dripping out of the outlets; all the outlets had it. It was then that he noticed something else. The carpet was soaking wet where the guy got Kentucky fried.

"Wait a minute..." Dean crouched near the mess, bits of his research while trapped in Gabe's Truman Shitshow came to mind. Specifically, one of the victims of the old amusement park – the man who had died from electrocution on kayak ride when he stepped on a piece of exposed live wire under the water. Hadn't that been at the park itself? The lodge was a ways down the road from there.

_Death echo? _He texted Sam. _Can echoes kill?_

There probably wasn't any... Organic material at the lodge. Maybe the water supply? Recycled electrical cables? His phone vibrated.

_GTFO. CSI just showed up._

Dean didn't need telling twice. He left and booked it for the elevator on the opposite side of the hall. He easily dodged the real cops and hotel manager on his way out. Sam was already waiting outside in the car – Shotgun, where he freaking belonged. Dean slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition.

"So, what have we got?" Sam asked, scrolling through the photos Dean sent him while he was riding the elevator back to the ground floor.

"Did you know the ski resort was built over an old amusement park that closed in the early nineties?" Dean asked

"No. So?"

"Well, the place had a fatality list at least half as long as ours. A bunch of people died over the years because of crap safety regulations. This was definitely one of them I remember reading about. Pull up 'Action Park' on wikipedia," Dean said as he steered away from the lodge.

"Huh," Sam mumbled after a few moments of silence. "I'm guessing it's kayak guy. Wait, _you_ did research?"

"Miracles do happen," Dean said a little more condescendingly than he meant to. "This whole county is our kind of weird. There's another smaller abandoned theme park the next town over, tons of supposedly haunted houses, and at least two cursed roads – Clinton and Shades of Death. Dude, who calls a road 'Shades of Death'? This state is like Hell for hunters." Dean sighed and stared at the road ahead. "We're ass deep in at least three cases that are definitely hunts. Oh, and there's an abandoned Playboy motel here in Vernon that's full of squatters and ghosts. The photos look like the real deal."

"A playboy hotel? _Really_ ? Dean, how did you find all of this?" Sam asked. "How did you have _time_ to find all of this?"

"Uh, like a little while ago. When you went into the lodge. Google weird shit in Sussex County, man. There's a list a mile long, never mind the rest of the state. There's even a haunted asylum down south a bit," Dean explained. "This isn't like the midwest. This is a really old area. History goes back here to at least the early 1600's when people first started settling along the Delaware and Hudson rivers – what's officially documented anyway. And before that, Native Americans had villages all over the place here. We've got cursed ground, ghosts – whatever, you name it. No signs of vamps or werewolves, though thank fuck. Mostly ghosts and curses."

"So, we should each take a case and go from there," Sam suggested. "I'm going to vote out a death echo for this one, though. It looks one, but they don't usually kill. They're just spirits that are trapped in a constant loop of reenacting their deaths," Sam said, looking out the window with a vacant expression on his face.

"Okay, so, normal vengeful. How did it get there? I'll keep working this case, why don't you pick one of the others? Why don't you look into the other theme park: Gingerbread Castle. It's fairy tale themed, in the next town over – Hamburg," Dean suggested. "It's abandoned so getting in should be easy. Local lore says it's haunted by the original owner. It's been sold a few times and whoever buys it turns up dead in the castle. It's been for sale for like ten years now."

Sam pulled out his phone and went to web browser to get a head start on the research. "Yeah, sure," He mumbled, obviously not convinced that Dean had learned so much about the area in the maybe ten minutes he had been trying to get the hotel manager to let him up to the room.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Gabriel's actually toast?" Dean asked, watching Sam's reaction closely. The moment's hesitation, and slight twitch of his lips gave him away plain as day.

"He went up against Lucifer," Sam replied. "I mean, I sort of hope he's not dead. The jackass was just starting to grow on me, but... I don't think he bullshit his way out of that. I don't know how he could have. An illusion wouldn't have fooled Lucifer."

"Yeah, you're right. Never mind. Have you heard from Cas?" Dean asked, all of his fears confirmed. It was real. All of it. Sam was never a good liar, and Dean could see right through him, despite his best attempt. He _had_ actually prayed to Gabriel, about Dean's emotional constipation over Castiel. Really, of all the things he could have asked for help with... Icing the devil wasn't anywhere on that list?

"Yeah, he called before. He's fine. He's looking into some demonic omens in Nevada," Sam replied.

"He's still pissed at me," Dean said, as he parked Baby at the motel.

"Wouldn't you be? He gave up everything he's ever believed in, because he believed in you, and you threw it in his face when you went to go to be Michael's little bitch. Can you imagine what would have happened if he hadn't dragged you back? 'Sorry' isn't going to cut it, Dean. Not this time," Sam said as he got out of the car and dug in his pockets for the motel key. "You're gonna have to talk it out, but he's beyond pissed."

"I know... Sam, I'm gonna make a beer run. Call if you want something," Dean said. Sam just shook his head and unlocked the motel room door. Dean could almost see the bitch face through the back of Sam's head.

* * *

Dean found himself sitting on a picnic table in a park near the motel. It was almost sunset, and the place was deserted. It seemed almost serene, and reminded him of where he had met Gabriel at night when he sent him back to reality. He sighed, gathered his wits, and called Castiel's number on his cell. The angel, of course, didn't answer. Dean closed his eyes and swore under his breath. How was he supposed to be fix things if Cas wouldn't even talk to him? And wasn't _that_ the most painful feeling he'd had in recent times?

"Castiel, I need you. We need to talk, Buddy," He said to the silent park. "I know you're pissed, and you have every right to be pissed. I fucked up, but I want to make this right, so please just hear me out."

There was no response, no tell-tale whoosh of feathers in the air behind him, or that monotone 'Hello, Dean' that seemed to serve as the angel's standard and only greeting. He sighed and looked up at the stars that were just starting to appear in the sky, through the bright colors of a spectacular sunset. Dean really wished Cas was there, even if it was just to sit on the bench next to him and watch the sunset – as sappy as that was, it would have been nice. Cas could hear him, though. He knew that.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I know that's not good enough right now, but I'm not going to give up. We'll find another way, okay? There has to be some way to either gank Luci, or toss him back in the pit that doesn't involve him wearing me to prom. We'll think of something. Just don't... Don't leave me, Cas." Dean leaned on the worn picnic table in front of him and hid his face in his hands. He was _not_ crying. He was _not _going to cry. He was a grown ass man, who had literally been to hell and back. He could get through this. He had to.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean nearly fell off the bench he was sitting on, as he turned to look at Cas who was sitting next to him, with his back facing the table, and his eyes fixed on the fading sunset.

"Hey, Cas."

"I never left," Cas said, still not meeting Dean's eyes.

"I know."

The silence that followed was stifling, and made Dean want to tear his hair out. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Cas placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Castiel's people skills might have been 'rusty', but no one would argue that he wasn't improving with each passing day.

"Yours is a heavy burden that I would wish upon no one," Cas said, finally breaking the silence. "I am disappointed, but not angry. Not anymore, at least. You made a mistake, a momentary lapse of judgment, nothing more. I am not sure what our options are in this fight, only that all the odds are against us."

"Yeah, but we can't give up," Dean replied.

"Of course not. Humanity deserves to be saved. I am quite fond of it, and I think the other angels might feel the same if they ever get to experience the world as I have," Castiel said, finally turning to face Dean, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. "You haven't been sleeping."

"Is it _that_ obvious?" Dean groused, staring at the ground.

"Probably, but I have watched you lie awake at night, or sneak out to watch the stars instead," Castiel answered.

"You've been watching me not sleep again? Personal space, Cas," Dean reminded him. His only response was that puppy-like head tilt Cas did when he was confused by something. "Never mind. It's fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You are not fine."

"Now you sound like Sam. You know what, you're right. I'm not fine. There's nothing you can do though, and I'm still holding up alright, so that means I'm fine," Dean told him flatly. "Are we done with the chick flick moment? We good? You gonna stop avoiding me now?"

"I... Yes, Dean." Castiel didn't look sure, but he kept his comments to himself. "What do you dream about?"

"You know what my life's like, are you really surprised that I have nightmares?" Dean snapped, and immediately regretted his venomous tone. The question painfully reminded him of not-Cas the psychotherapist, and he just wasn't going there. Not yet.

"I suppose not," Cas said, looking a little hurt. "I might be able to help."

"It's okay, Cas," Dean insisted.

"I see. I will continue tracking omens for now. Do not hesitate to call me if you need assistance. ...I will come." With that, Castiel vanished, leaving Dean alone in the small park. Dean had never felt more alone in his life, not even in Hell. He knew it wouldn't be easy, Gabriel had made that clear, but he didn't think it would be quite this hard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: **Legends Resort is a real abandoned place (my grandmother worked there as housekeeping when it was still the Playboy club), though the haunting and homeless community there are all made up. :3

**Warnings:** Brief description of torture in this chapter, but really it's SPN, there's tons of it in cannon so IDK if needs a warning?

* * *

Dean wasn't having much luck with his case. It took an entire day to figure out kayak dude's real name, only to discover that he was a European tourist who was cremated before being shipped home in a cardboard box. In the time it took Dean to uncover a single name, Sam had successfully torched the bones of Gingerbread Castle's original owner. He had since moved on his next case, a possible cursed object in the neighboring town of Sparta. Dean yawned and snapped Sam's laptop shut. He had spent the entire day at the library, hoping to figure out his next step. He'd have to break into the water park part of Mountain Creek, but he wasn't sure how much good it would do. The man-made river where the victim had gotten fried had since been filled in and built over. ...Which brought him back to one of his first theories – recycled wiring. It seemed like the only way to put the spirit to rest would be interacting with it, and knowing what it wanted to hear. To do that, he would probably have to summon it.

Dean got up from the table by the window, and searched the motel room for the usual crappy notepad with their logo on it. He found it in the bed stand drawer – next to the obligatory dusty bible. He scribbled a note for Sam to do his thing, and hack into the lodge's bank accounts. If he could find something from around the time of the lodge's construction a few years back, maybe he would have a lead. If parts were recycled from the old theme park, it might be something for the spirit to latch onto. Momentarily, he thought that he should get some sleep, but decided on a couple cups of shitty motel coffee and a trip to the dilapidated remains of the old Playboy hotel. Well, Legends Resort it was called. The Playboy club had closed and sold the hotel several years before it was actually abandoned.

Sam would probably be pissed that he went alone to a squatter infested, haunted hotel alone at night, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. Sam would be fine; he had that rust-bucket piece of shit pick-up truck that he managed to talk the police chief into letting him borrow from impound. It was easier to cover ground with two vehicles, considering how many cases they had on their hands. Besides, Dean needed the distraction. If he kept busy, he kept his thoughts away from Castiel and the morass of guilt and fear inside his head. He couldn't even talk to Cas. He felt like shit for almost letting Michael in, and was downright terrified of telling Cas how he really felt. The angel wouldn't want to hear it anyway – not that Dean even knew how to put it to words other than 'Hey, I think I'm in love with you, you feathery dick'. Dean would have to build up to it slowly, but how? He would have to get Castiel to actually spend some time with him instead of running off on his own. What he really needed, was a good night's sleep, but with sleep came the nightmares. Were they really worse than being awake, though?

Dean parked Baby in an empty church lot down the road from the hotel. He pocketed an EMF detector, slipped an iron dagger inside his boot, and tucked his pistol into the waistband of the dirtiest, holiest jeans he owned. He checked that none of his other various concealed weapons were visible through the threadbare green flannel he had on, and locked the trunk. He hoped he made a convincing hobo; he doubted the fed suit would get him far with the locals.

"All right," Dean said and slung a well-used duffel bag full of other useful ghost hunting tools over his shoulder. "Let's do this."

Dean wasn't expecting as large of a homeless community as he found in the husk of the old hotel. It was surreal, really – Everything from the swimming pool full of stagnant water and frogs, and the half caved in structure looming out of the darkness. Near the entrance, a group of drifters were gathered around a small bonfire that they had lit in the middle of the overgrown parking lot. It was something Dean might have expected to see in the bowels of Detroit, not in the middle of the boonies. He checked that his gun was easily accessible, and approached the motley group near the fire. They eyed him warily as he approached, and Dean wondered if it was really the ghosts he needed to worry about.

"Hey, nice weather tonight," Dean said awkwardly.

"Where are you from, stranger?" An older man with long silver hair tied into a ponytail asked. He was an old school biker type – ratty leather jacket, covered in tattoos with half a cigaret hanging out of his mouth.

"Lawrence, Kansas," Dean answered. "The name's Dean."

"I'm from Arkansas myself – little town called Marshall," Biker dude answered. "I go wherever the wind takes me these days. Call me Rocky. They've got a pretty nice thing goin' here, but I wouldn't stay long if you're on the run. Cops come by pretty regularly."

"Thanks, man. I'm just passing through. Anywhere I can crash for the night?" Dean asked, thinking that it would be useful to blend in with the others as best as he could.

"There's clean beds set up in the banquet hall," A young woman with frizzy, matted, blond dreadlocks piped up. "They'll cost you, though – barter or cash. If you don't have anything to trade, you can sleep upstairs. Most of the old hotel rooms still have some furniture that's better than nothing, but we usually stay downstairs. I'm Liz, by the way."

"They've got a sort of trade store in the old gift shop, and Ed here used to be an army medic if you need patchin' up," Rocky added, pointing at an elderly man near him with his thumb. "Really, though. Stay in the banquet hall if you can; you don't want to go upstairs."

"How come you guys don't go upstairs much?" Dean asked.

"The place is haunted," Ed said in a gravely tone, finally looking up from his wrinkled hands that he had been warming by the fire. "I've seen it with my own eyes. It's killed people. Two drifters a month or so back. Buried 'em both out back. It had to be the ghost, anyway. Nothing human could've done 'em like that."

"So, a murderous Playboy bunny?" Dean said incredulously. "That sounds kind of hot, to be honest. I'll take my chances. I like a little S&M sometimes."

Rocky laughed heartily and slapped Dean on the shoulder. "This one, I like. She's no bunny, though. I saw her a few nights ago, exploring the upper floors; I'm an urban explorer of sorts, so I had to take a look at this old place. Anyway, it's a little girl in a pink dress, soaking wet like a drowned rat."

"According to the stories, she was a maintenance guy's granddaughter. She was the only family he had, so he took her to work with him because he couldn't afford a babysitter," Liz explained. "One day, some crazy nabbed her and drowned her in a bathtub on the third floor. It was three days before they found her body."

"She's not the only one, though." Liz took a sip from the obviously reused Styrofoam coffee cup in her hands. "There's a man I saw on the second floor. He chased me down the hall, but I ran like hell and he couldn't follow me into the stairwell for some reason. He kept yelling something about some guy stabbing him for drugs, and that he was gonna 'put a cap in his ass'. I know it sounds nuts, but I swear to God the dude's intestines were hanging out and kind of dragging on the ground behind him."

"How long have you guys been here?" Dean asked curiously.

"Ed's been here almost fifteen years," Liz replied. "He's like a father to me, and brought me here about four years ago – found me on the street strung out on heroine. I'd be dead otherwise."

Rocky shrugged. "About a week, but like I said, I'm a wanderer. All I need is my Harley, and the tent I keep folded up on my bike. I've been photographing the abandoned parts of the hotel; it's a hobby of mine."

"Well, thanks for the help, guys. I think I'm gonna call it a night," Dean said and headed inside.

He bypassed the lobby that had been made into a sort of bar/casino with makeshift card tables, and a worn pool table they must have pulled out of the hotel somewhere. He decided to have a look at the upper floors, and rent a bed later when he was ready to crash. The elevators, obviously were out of commission, so he headed for the stairwell. Once he closed the door behind him on the second floor, he couldn't hear any of the chatter from downstairs. He was alone in the dark, with only the sound of his own breathing to keep him company. Dean didn't normally get the creeps on a case, but something about this place was different. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and it was several degrees colder than it should have been for a summer night. He really shouldn't have gone alone, but it was too late to turn back – or so he told himself. He pulled his flashlight out of his duffel and headed for the first doors in front of him as he resigned himself to a sleepless night. There was a lot of ground to cover. He got out the EMF detector, and started down the hallway, pausing near each door to see if he got a read.

Most of the doors were open, or missing entirely – probably re-purposed into something else by the squatters downstairs. The rooms were mostly intact, with rotting furniture, but ransacked for anything useful. Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, but the EMF detector was silent. He nearly squealed like a girl when his phone went off. Swearing under his breath, he fished it out of his pocket.

"What?" He said quietly, having seen that it was Sam's number.

"I got nothing on the bank accounts. But, I did find you something. It's a cursed object you're dealing with. I did some digging, and I found out that when the case was under investigation, the cops took the kayak the guy was using as evidence. It sat in the impound lot forever, and eventually one of the cops took it home but never used it. The cop's son took it, and just went kayaking on the Delaware with it last weekend. It's the same guy that got cooked at the lodge," Sam explained, so quickly Dean barely caught all of it. "Anyway, It was in the cop's garage and he let me have it since his kid said it kept flipping over on him, and he's smart enough to hate the thing considering the way his son died. Anyway, I'm about to light this mother up, but I figured I would tell you."

"You're going to burn a kayak?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows as the EMF detector finally caught a weak signal.

"It's wood, actually. I'm surprised it's in such good shape for as old as it is," Sam replied. "Where are you?"

"Uh, playboy hotel. I've got faint EMF on the second floor, and the, uh, locals filled me in on the back story. Little girl drowned in a tub, and dude stabbed to shit in a drug deal that went south," Dean explained.

"Dean," Sam complained, and he could almost hear the bitch face through the phone. "We agreed to do that one together. It's not safe alone."

"Yeah, if I get in any trouble I'll call Cas," Dean lied. "It's fine. Probably just a salt and burn, or two. The squatters here know to stay out of the upper floors. I guess downstairs is safe, but shit gets real if they come up here. Oh hey, I got something."

"What is it?"

Dean aimed the EMF detector at the closed door in front of him. It lit up red. "I think I found the room the drug dealer got ganked in," Dean said and knocked on the door. "I'll check in later. See if you can find graves for the people who've died here."

Dean knocked again. There was no answer. He pocketed the EMF detector and kicked the door open. The half-rotten wood gave easily and it fell off the hinges entirely. He pulled his sawed-off loaded with rock salt out of his duffel bag, which he left on the floor beside the door, and headed into the room.

"Alright you son of a bitch," Dean said, glancing around the room. "Come on out."

Nothing happened. He stepped further into the room, and felt the air go cold. Dean narrowed his eyes and kept his finger on the trigger. Nothing caught his eyes, until he saw something sticking out from under the mangled remains of a bed – a human hand. Cautiously, Dean moved forward and the hand shimmered out of existence. Maybe if he hadn't been so sleep deprived, he might have seen or felt the ghost materialize behind him. Or, at least had the reflexes to shoot the fucker. Instead, everything went black.

* * *

Hell. He was in Hell. Again. Dean struggled against the leather cuffs holding him to a blood soaked rack – soaked, probably, with his blood. He writhed in agony as he tried to slip his hands through the bindings. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but only retched at the pungent scent of rotting flesh and old blood that hung heavy in the air. He had to get out. He wasn't dead, was he? He couldn't remember much, just the moment he hung up the phone after talking to Sam at the Playboy hotel. Still alive, he had to be. He hadn't met a reaper, after all. And, as far as he knew, he hadn't made any new demon deals to earn him an express ticket to the pit.

"Dean, Dean, Dean..." Oh, no. He knew that voice.

"Fuck you," He retorted and spat blood at Alistair, who responded by stabbing him in the leg with a rusty dagger.

Dean grunted and bit his lip until it bled. He would not scream. He would not cry out. Alistair wasn't going to get the satisfaction, not from him.

"What's the matter, Dean? Didn't expect to come back here, did you? Well, that's too bad. It looks like you're stuck with me, and there won't be any pesky angels coming to... 'Grip you tight and raise you from perdition' this time," Alistair told him, trailing the tip of his dagger across Dean's inner thigh. "You've lost your touch, I'm afraid. I'll just have to retrain you, from the beginning."

"God I hate your voice," Dean whined. "It's so fucking annoying. Listening to you talk is worse that anything you can do with that pig sticker."

"Is that so?" Alistair purred. "I'll be the judge of that." He placed the dagger against the zipper of Dean's jeans and sliced the fabric open.

"Oh come _on,_" Dean moaned. "Really? You aren't going to buy me dinner first?"

"You're right, we'll save that for last," Alistair replied, and drove the dagger into Dean's chest, burying it to the hilt, maybe half an inch from his heart.

Dean let out an involuntary gasp as Alistair pulled it back out and blood ran down his bare chest.

"We don't need that either," Alistair commented, and slowly flayed the skin off Dean's chest where his anti-possession tattoo was.

Dean's head was spinning from blood loss. It took everything he had to stay awake, to keep breathing. He knew Alistair wouldn't let him die. He'd just break him apart, and put him back together as many times as it took for him to snap. He didn't even notice that his head had fallen down onto his chest until Alistair lifted his chin up with the blade of his dagger.

"Look at you. Pathetic. I have a lot of work to do. I guess It'll be the toes next..."

Dean couldn't help it anymore, as Alistair started slicing, he started screaming – screaming for Cas to save him, shouting that he loved him and begging him not to leave him there.

Dean jerked violently as he woke up, panting for breath. He ached all over, still able to feel every cut Alistair had given him. Someone was holding him down. Instinctively, he tried to punch them, but his wrist was caught in a grip far stronger than his own. He struggled to escape, but whoever – whatever – was holding him only tightened their grasp.

"Dean!" A familiar voice called to him.

Castiel? Why was Cas in hell? He had to escape. The angel needed his help, probably.

"Dean!"

Dean's thoughts came to a screeching halt as the familiar, tingly feeling of Castiel's grace touching him brought him back to reality. Dean blinked several times, and looked up in confusion to see Castiel holding him with his head in his lap. Castiel had his fingers tangled in Dean's hair, and Dean's wrist gripped tightly in his other hand.

"Cas?" Dean asked in a broken whisper. "What happened?"

"You let your guard down and the spirit attacked you from behind with some sort of blunt object. I have healed the damage, but had I arrived any later, you most likely would have bled out. Your skull was smashed in from the back," Castiel explained, without letting go of him. "I heard you calling out to me, so I came and found you unconscious."

"But I was..." Dean frowned, and really wished Cas would let go of him. Having his head in the angel's lap would have been awkward enough, pathetic pining non-withstanding. "Can you hear me 'pray' for you in a dream?"

"Apparently," Cas said and finally released his hold on Dean's wrist. Dean struggled to sit up, but Cas held him down. "We do share a –"

" – Profound bond, I know," Dean quipped. "What does that even mean, Cas?"

"It means, I know every inch of your soul. I put it back together, after all – piece by piece," Castiel explained and finally allowed Dean to sit up slowly. He almost passed out as he did. "When an angel takes a vessel, a bit of their grace is always left behind. While I never possessed you, you do have a bit of my grace in you; you always will. Which is probably why, even in a nightmare, I could hear you."

"Uh... Okay," Dean replied. "Maybe we should, you know, get out of here."

"Of course."

Dean barely blinked his eyes, and they were back in the motel room. Sam, who had been taken by surprise, tripped over himself and face-planted into his laptop as he reflexively tried to get up and grab his gun. When he saw it was Dean and Cas, he sighed and flopped back into the chair.

"I _told _you not to go alone," Sam Chastised Dean. Dean ignored him and shrugged off Castiel's light hold on his shoulder. Cas just managed to catch him, as he almost became more intimately familiar with the shitty motel carpet than anyone in their right mind would want to be. He let Cas half carry him to his bed, and the angel nearly threw him into it.

"I'm fine, Sam." Dean picked a bit of dried blood out of his hair.

"Shut up, Dean. Cas called me, and told me the state he found you in," Sam snapped angrily.

"I have to go back in the morning. I can -"

"Cas and I will go back in the morning. You're on research duty until further notice. You can't handle this alone. You aren't sleeping, you're drinking like a fish, and jumping at shadows. I'm not blind, Dean. Something's wrong, and until you work out your bullshit you aren't going near a hunt," Sam ranted.

"Are you done, Mom?" Dean quipped.

"Shut up," Sam and Cas said in unison.

"Cas, I'm going to go light up that God damned kayak. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Sam said, angrier than Dean had seen him in a long time. Castiel sat on the edge of Dean's bed and sighed wearily.

"I'm not sorry," Dean hissed.

"I wouldn't expect otherwise." Cas helped him out of his coat and threw the blankets over him. "Get some sleep. I barely managed to save you; you will be fatigued for some time."

"I don't... I'm not tired," Dean lied.

"Go to sleep, Dean." Whatever protest Dean was about to make was silenced as Cas pressed his hand to Dean's forehead and he more passed out than fell asleep.


End file.
